


Lucid Dreaming

by listerinezero



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Child Abuse, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, Magneto's POV, Misunderstandings, Self-Loathing, Time Travel, Unrequited Love, Violence against Children, 中文翻译 | Translation in Chinese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-14 20:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/listerinezero/pseuds/listerinezero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magneto finds himself in 1962, on the morning they go to Cuba, in the bed of the young Charles who'd spent months letting him think they were in love before breaking his heart. But he is not the same man he was forty years earlier, and as he gets to know young Charles again, he discovers that things might not have been exactly the way he remembered them after all.</p>
<p>
  <a href="http://www.mtslash.com/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=79962&extra=&page=1">Chinese translation by <b>Balepnar</b>!!</a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, inspired by conversations with Unforgotten.
> 
> Also, warning: I'm playing fast and loose with canon, and I'm not pulling older Magneto from any specific movie or comic book or point in time, so please forgive any discrepancies.
> 
> **Huge thank you to Balepnar for translating!!**

Oh. He hasn't had this dream in a while. Decades, probably. Yet it's still as vivid as ever. Charles' bedroom. Charles' bedroom, 1962. Magneto turns and finds the Charles of 1962 - all freckled porcelain and soft brown waves - snuggled naked in bed beside him, and in his groggy state Magneto thinks to himself, _Well. This is a nice surprise._

Magneto lifts the blankets to get a better look, and he is far from disappointed. Dream-Charles's ass is better than he remembers, and Magneto doesn't wait three seconds before he reaches out to run his hand over it. Charles doesn't wake; he only hums a little, turns fully onto his side, and pulls the blankets closer. If anything, he's given Magneto an opening, which Magneto, being Magneto, promptly takes advantage of. He presses himself against Charles' back, spooning himself against his soft, pale skin, taking a moment to shudder with pleasure at the sensation before he lets go of Charles, rolls onto his back, and unties his drawstring pajama bottoms.

He reaches into his drawers and finds that he's already beginning to get hard - and wasn't that kind of the dream to allow him be in his early thirties, too. Not that he wouldn't have enjoyed the dream in his current body, but this is a nice perk.

_Why hasn't Charles woken up yet?_ he wonders as he strokes himself to his full potential. The other times he's had this dream, Charles always woke up and made those delicious little noises he used to make, then climbed on top of him and rode him until they were both making sounds neither of them would admit to in the morning. But the dream has only just started, Magneto reminds himself; there’s no need to rush. Let it play out.

And then he thinks, _Bit strange that I'm thinking about all this..._

Lucid dreaming. That's what it's called. He can't remember ever having lucid dreams before, but of all the dreams in which he could be lucid, this really is not a bad choice. Top Ten. Top Five, even.

Magneto pulls his cock out of his embarrassingly old fashioned white briefs - he has to give this dream points for accuracy, at least - and spreads Charles’ legs.

Charles rolls away ("Mmmf. Erik, not now..."), but Magneto wraps his arm around Charles' chest and pulls him closer, until Charles turns and gently pushes him away. "Go to sleep."

_What the hell kind of sex dream is this, anyway?_ Magneto thinks sleepily, and pulls Charles closer once again, waiting for him to make the noise and kick off the dream as he remembers it.

"Knock it off, Erik," Charles says instead, and pushes him away once more. "For god's sake. We just had sex an hour ago. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I need to get some sleep."

Magneto rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling for a few minutes. He can feel his cock beginning to deflate (and he decides that must be a small bit of reality creeping into the dream; obviously his younger self was incredibly virile), and he sighs in defeat.

"Damn tedious waste of a sex dream," he mumbles, and falls back to sleep.

*

Magneto wakes again. Same dream. Same room. Same bed. Still 1962.

This time, it's 6:30 in the morning and Charles is sitting at his desk flipping through some papers. He puts them down and looks up at Erik with a sigh. "Couldn't sleep after all," he says with an air of apology.

Magneto rubs his eyes and looks around, marveling at how vivid and detailed it all is. His memory was never this good. None of this feels like a dream. Everything looks the way it looked then. Everything feels the way it did then. When he reaches out magnetically he finds that the old copper wiring is in place, the underground bunkers he would give almost anything to visit don't seem to be there at all, and the school is definitely not equipped for Wi-Fi. That he knows for certain. No Wi-Fi, for him, is like breathing mountain air: crisp and clear. Normally he'd pay good money for a Wi-Fi free getaway, but this is unnerving. He stretches his senses out through the entire house in search of a wheelchair and doesn't find so much as a rolling desk chair. Not that it's a surprise, considering Charles is standing up and walking towards him.

And all at once he realizes that this is not a dream. This is something else entirely.

He waits until Charles gets closer. "You look like you're as nervous about all this as I am,” Charles says as he approaches Magneto's side of the bed. “But don't worry. I--"

Magneto reaches out and grabs Charles by his collar, his stupid blue collar peeking out from that stupid old cardigan. "Who are you?" Magneto snarls. "What is the meaning of this?" Quickly Magneto tries to think of any mutants he knows who could pull off such a feat – trapping him in a world of his own memory – and Professor X is the only one he can think of who could do it. But that doesn't seem like the professor's style, and though it might be a stretch to call them “friends” at this point, Magneto hasn't done anything lately that would inspire him to such a stunt.

Charles struggles a bit and sputters, "What the hell are you -- Let go of me! How dare you!" No, this isn't the work of The X-Men. This recreation of Charles as he actually was then is too accurate: bossy, pretty, soft, and manipulative. If this Charles was an X-Men Creation, it would be the Charles they worship, the one that exists only in his followers' minds.

Magneto stands, the Charles-facsimile still firmly in his grasp, and towers over him. "You tell me right now what is going on or I will tear your blood out of you through your pores, do you understand?"

Charles trembles - though he doesn't seem to think Magneto has noticed - and begins to lift his hand towards his head. Magneto gasps. This proto-Professor X can't even use his powers without a finger to his temple! If he'd wanted proof that this wasn't his doing, that was it. The Charles he knows would never sacrifice his powers in the name of accuracy. He lets loose a maniacal laugh, saying, "Go on! Try it! Do you think I can't block this Charles?"

Charles drops his hand, looking indignant. "'This Charles'? What is that supposed to mean?"

Magneto shakes his head and lets go of him. Whatever this all is, 1962-Charles is not a threat to him, nor is any of the other junior X-Men that might be roaming the hallways of this house.

Speaking of which...

Magneto throws on his robe (and, passing a mirror, is pleased to note that he's still looking like 1962-Erik) and stalks down the hallway. "Mystique?" he calls. "Mystique!"

A moment later, a young blond woman steps into the hallway.

He stands there dumbstruck for a minute, gaping at her. Raven. He’d forgotten about Raven. He doesn’t know what he was thinking: of course Mystique isn’t here. His Mystique doesn’t exist yet. Raven thinks he’s using a fun codename. His disappointment must show, because she holds her chin a little higher and flickers back to blue.

“Like we talked about, right?” she says, and he hasn’t the foggiest idea what she’s referring to, but he nods anyway.

“Erik, what on earth is going on?” asks Charles from behind him, and Magneto doesn’t know what to say. His mouth opens and closes a couple of times, but nothing comes out. He’s surrounded by ghosts. Or perhaps he is the ghost. Perhaps he is dead. His vision begins to blur. “I don’t know what’s got you acting this way,” Charles says, “but we hardly have time for this right now. We need to leave.”

Magneto spins around to face him. “Leave?”

“For Cuba.” Charles gives him a bewildered look. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“Cuba?” Magneto asks, and Charles’ expression grows increasingly concerned. “Shaw? Is that today?”

Charles looks dumbfounded. “Yes, that’s today!”

Magneto looks to Raven, then Charles, then back again. He grins. Whatever this is, it might be fun after all.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s twenty minutes before they leave to go kill Shaw, and Erik can’t remember where he keeps his pants.

He hasn’t thought about this period of his life very much in the past thirty or forty years – aside from the occasional sex dream – and for the life of him he can’t remember exactly what their little arrangement had been. He’d had his own room, technically, though he stayed in Charles’ bed every night. That much he knows. But he can’t remember if he kept his clothes in his bedroom or Charles’. He thinks he left his things in his bedroom in the name of keeping up appearances, but which bedroom was that again? There are too many doors to choose from. 

Fortunately, just as he starts to feel foolish, Charles takes him by the arm and leads him into the third door on the left. Erik’s room, brimming with slim pants and turtleneck sweaters. “I don’t know where to begin,” Charles says wearily. He sits down on the edge of the bed and crosses one leg over the other, looking prim in a way that Professor X has not for quite some time. Magneto distantly remembers finding such mannerisms charming. “Should I ask you what the hell has gotten into you and why you attacked me this morning? Or, considering your horrendous timing, should we put that aside for now and go over the plan again? You do remember the plan, don’t you?” 

“Kill Shaw, prevent nuclear war. I remember.” 

“There’s a bit more to it than that.” Charles folds his hands in his lap and frowns at him. Tentatively, he leans forward and asks, “Erik?” as though he’s not sure who might answer. Magneto feels Charles reaching towards his mind – though he doesn’t have the finger to his forehead, he notes – and repels him as mildly as possible. He doesn’t want to set off any alarms; he only wants to keep Charles out, and he can do it easily. Charles mutters, “I swear it’s like…” but he shakes his head and doesn’t finish the thought. 

“Don’t worry about this morning,” Magneto says, pulling a purple sweater over his head. “It’s over. Now, where do you keep the jet?” 

Still Charles is frowning at him worriedly. For a brief moment, Magneto almost wants to comfort him, but considering that this Charles is about 4 hours from breaking his heart, he can’t say that he’s overly concerned about protecting his feelings. So instead of apologizing for frightening Charles and threatening his life, Magneto shrugs on his old brown leather jacket and shuts the closet door. “I’m ready,” he says. He puts on his shades – though the sun is barely up – and checks himself out in the mirror. Damn he was good looking, he thinks, though he can’t get used to seeing himself with dark hair again. He quite likes the silver. 

Charles is watching him carefully; he can see it in the reflection. 

“How do I look?” Magneto asks. 

“Gorgeous, as ever,” he answers, though there’s an odd tone in his voice. Magneto is busy considering that – wondering if Charles always sounded suspect when paying Erik a compliment, or if he's only suspicious because he knows Charles is about to dump him – when Charles walks over to rest his hands on Magneto’s waist. 

“Whatever happens,” Charles says carefully, “please be safe.” The look in his eyes isn’t pleading, like Magneto expects. It’s resolute. “I don’t know what’s come over you today, but…” he trails off. “I don’t know if you’re having flashbacks or if the stress has gotten to you or if it’s something else, and I can’t seem to find out from your mind – and when you learned to repel my power I don’t know. But considering the way you reacted to me this morning, I shudder to think how you will react to seeing Shaw. I’m afraid… I’m afraid that you might put yourself in danger. But you can’t let yourself go down with Shaw. Please promise me that you’ll protect yourself first and foremost. I need you in one piece.” He gulps. “I love you, Erik. Promise me.” 

Charles is looking up at him, caressing his waist, waiting for an answer, and had this conversation happened the first time around, Young Erik would have, well, wept, probably. He would have told Charles he loved him, too, and promised him anything and everything to get him into the twin sized bed behind them for a pre-mission quickie. But all Magneto can think is, _God, no wonder I didn’t see it coming._ All this time, Magneto thought he’d been too blinded by his attraction to Charles to see that his feelings weren’t reciprocated until it was too late. But no, his younger self was not delusional, did not only see what he wanted to see. Charles had been leading him on. It’s a good thing they hadn’t had this conversation the first time, when it really happened – he never would have gotten over hearing Charles tell him that he loved him. 

“Promise me, Erik,” he says again, and what can Magneto do but promise? 

“I promise,” he grunts, pushes his shades up his nose, and marches out of the room. 

*

They go down to the lab and find that Beast has prepared jumpsuits for them: a fact Magneto had carefully forgotten. Blue and yellow are not his colors, though they do seem to be Charles’, and damned if the suit doesn’t fit him exactly the way it should. Before he can stop himself, Magneto thinks that Charles never looked better than he did in that X-Men jumpsuit, and Charles flashes him a smirk. Apparently he’d let that thought slip out. He’ll have to be more careful. 

Beast pilots the jet down to Cuba in record time. (He’d forgotten that this was the same day that they all first saw the blue fur, but Magneto can’t remember what “Hank” looked like. He tries to play shocked, but he never claimed to be an actor. His stiff “Oh my heavens you’re blue” earns him a few side-eyes from his teammates and a roar in the face from the man himself.) They arrive just as the American and Russian fleets begin to play chicken with the embargo line. 

“Charles,” he says, unbuckling his harness, “Locate the Russian commander and convince him to turn them all around.” 

“I can’t just—”

“Why not?” Magneto snaps. “And do the same to the Americans, while you’re at it.” Magneto glares at Charles with his best, most commanding Magneto glare until Charles raises two fingers to his temple. He doesn’t look happy, but whether he's not happy about being asked to manipulate the armed forced or being told what to do in the first place, Magneto doesn’t know and doesn’t care. It’s working: the fleets are beginning to maneuver themselves in opposite directions. Why Charles didn’t do that the first time he has no idea. “Very good,” Magneto murmurs, rubbing his hands together. “Beast! Bring us a bit lower, and open the hatch!” 

“What are you doing?” Charles asks as Magneto reaches a hand over the open floor. 

“I’m attempting to locate Shaw’s submarine… and there it is. Charles, tell me who’s on board.” 

Again, Charles looks displeased to be receiving orders, but lifts a finger to his temple. “Angel is there. So is Azazel. And Janos.” 

“And Shaw.” Magneto makes a yanking motion with his hand, and the submarine lifts out of the water, no telepathic encouragement necessary. Charles is gaping at him with pure awe, and Magneto preens a little in spite of himself. It’s silly, he knows – he hasn’t sought Charles’ approval since, well, today, the first time – but in the spirit of making the most of this strange little trip he’s on, he allows himself to enjoy the moment. 

But it’s a moment too long – he’s so busy basking in the almost lustful expression he’s inspired in Young Charles that he almost loses his control over the flying submarine. Fortunately he regains his metallic grip in time to stop it from crash landing onto the beach all over again, and keeps it steady while he tears a hole in the side of it to pull Angel, Azazel, and Janos out by their zippers. 

“Holy shit!” yelps the red-headed one. (Magneto forgot his name decades ago.) 

“Charles, do make sure they don’t do anything stupid.” 

Frozen by Charles’ command, his former – future – compatriots float through the air like three marionettes hanging by their strings. Magneto pulls them in through the jet’s open hatch, sparing them only a passing thought at how young they look, before dropping them unceremoniously on the floor and returning to the task at hand. 

Shaw is in the submarine. Magneto knows that for a fact, and yet when he tries to dig up the excitement, the verve, the spirit of vengeance necessary to really enjoy this moment, he can’t seem to find it. Forty years ago – last night – Charles warned him that killing Shaw wouldn’t bring him peace, but it had. Not peace in everything. Not peace in spirit, or in heart. But in this one thing – in avenging his mother, in ridding the world of Sebastian Shaw – driving that coin through his skull had closed that door for good. He would get no satisfaction from doing it again; it is already done. Magneto had been imagining confronting Shaw all over again, but now that the moment is quite literally at his fingertips, he feels no joy at the thought of standing face to face with that evil, slimy, skinny, Footloose-looking son of a bitch. He just wants him dead. So he clenches his fist and with all of his might pulls the submarine out of the air and back into the water, drags it down to the ocean floor with the gaping hole still open and holds it there. He watches the clock – three minutes, five minutes, seven minutes… How long will it take to drown him? Ten minutes pass and everyone on the jet is staring at him with some mix of terror and awe, but he’s not done yet. His muscles are starting to quiver, but he needs to be sure. Shaw might thrive in a blast, but he doesn’t have gills any more than Magneto does. Eighteen minutes. Nineteen minutes. 

“Erik,” says Charles, and Magneto doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there next to him, a hand at the small of his back. “Erik, he’s dead. You can let go now.” 

“Even you can’t be sure of that. He’s wearing the helmet.” 

“Helmet?” Charles gives him a puzzled look. “It’s been twenty minutes. Unless he has scuba gear, he can’t still be breathing.” 

Scuba gear. Magneto hadn’t thought to check for scuba gear or any other underwater breathing apparatuses. He scans the ocean below him and doesn’t find anything that might be a living Shaw, but just to be safe, he summons all the power he can and, with a mighty thrust, buries the submarine beneath the ocean floor, pushes it deep into the earth’s crust, and seals whatever is left of Shaw inside the tomb. 

Finally he relaxes, lets out a shaky breath, and gives his powers a much needed break. Charles is still at his side, rubbing his back and quietly saying, “You did it. You did it.” 

He did it. And no one was killed or paralyzed. And it’s not even noon. 

Magneto turns to the group of mutants gathered there on the jet, all rapt in watching him, waiting to see what will happen next. He remembers that, the first time, he gave a big speech, but it was all such a blur that he can’t remember what he said. So he just holds his head high and says, “Sebastian Shaw is dead,” then stops, because he’s not sure what else there is to say. None of his recent speeches that come to mind make any sense whatsoever in 1962 – he’s been teaching master’s classes, and now he’s standing in front of Mutants 101. There aren’t even any missiles pointed at them for him to rail against. 

Charles must take his silence for something other than the mental blank that it is, because he steps forward and says, “Angel. Janos. Azazel. Mutants are the future, yes, but that future won’t come on the tails of nuclear fallout, and it won’t come from destroying the human race. We must build this future for ourselves. I hope you’ll join us.” 

Magneto quietly thinks that there’s a bit more to be said, though he couldn’t find the words himself. But since he’ll probably be back in the present by morning, he lets it go. Let Charles have his moment. It’s not worth arguing over a world that doesn’t exist. 

Shaw’s three comrades look to each other, then nod. It’s Azazel who speaks. “We will join you, for now,” he says warily. 

Charles nods, looking satisfied, and when everyone is buckled into their harnesses, he gives Beast the signal, and they’re back on their way to New York. 

*

“Hank, Raven, please help our new friends settle in,” Charles says when they return to Westchester. “I need to talk with Erik in private.” 

Charles shoots him a look, and Magneto knows what that means. At least in this version of the day, Charles is going to dump him in private instead of in front of everyone on that godforsaken beach. But Magneto can take it this time, and holds his head high as he turns and walks towards the back of the house. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Elevator.” 

Charles frowns at him. “Elevator? What elevator?” 

Oh. Well, that was stupid. 

“Nevermind,” he says, and follows Charles up the stairs. 

He leads Magneto into his bedroom. 

“All right,” Magneto says, closing the door behind him. “The mission is over. We’ve done what we set out to do, now I suppose you—” But he doesn’t get to finish the sentence, because Charles is kissing him, wrapping his arms around his neck and practically climbing him like a tree. Magneto is stunned and pulls away. “What?” 

“That was incredible,” Charles says. “You are incredible. You were. That was amazing,” he says between kisses, leading him towards the bed. “I’ve never seen you so—so---” He pushes Magneto onto the bed, flat on his back, and climbs on top of him, straddling him. 

“I—What?” 

“Erik, you did it! Aren’t you… aren’t you relieved? Proud? Don’t you want to… celebrate?” Charles shifts himself to better peel off Magneto’s jumpsuit. “Maybe I’ll leave mine on. You seem to like it.” There’s a flash of lust and mischief in his eyes. 

Magneto opens his mouth to say, “But you think I’m a monster,” but just before the words leave his mouth, Charles’ tongue goes in. 

And here come the noises Magneto was praying for last night. And the jumpsuit is now unzipped to his waist, and Charles’ lips are dancing down his chest. 

_Well,_ Magneto thinks. _Maybe this is just one big sex dream after all. No sense in wasting it._


	3. Chapter 3

When Magneto drifts off in Charles’ bed in the mid-afternoon, draped in sticky sheets and a happy Charles, he thinks that this surely must be it. He’s defeated Shaw and had surprisingly acrobatic victory sex with Charles, and now his little jaunt in 1962 is complete. He thinks that’s just fine.

Then when he wakes an hour and a half later to find Charles eager to go again, he wonders what kind of cosmic lottery he’s won, and does his best to make the most of this bonus round, this last hoorah before he opens his eyes and finds himself back in his lair, back in his seventies, back in his lonely, half empty bed.

“Erik? What’s wrong?” Charles asks him when they’re both spent and panting, staring up at the ceiling, their legs still entwined.

“Nothing at all. Why?”

“It’s just that you seem a bit,” he turns over and props himself up on his elbow as he searches for the word. “Distant,” he finishes, and gives him a searching look.

“I’m fine.” Even as he says it, he hears how cold he sounds. Distant is exactly the word Charles was looking for, and he’s exactly right. He is keeping his distance. It seems safer that way. If Charles figures out who he really is, he would kick Magneto out of bed so fast his head would spin. Besides, for an illusion, or a dream, or whatever this is, it all feels a bit too real, and Magneto fears what he might say or do if he let himself get too comfortable. He could ruin it all over again. Or worse, he might cry. He is in Erik’s body, after all. Erik did have a tendency to do that.

Charles trails a finger along Magneto’s side. “Why won’t you let me in?” he asks carefully.

Magneto scoffs. “If you don’t call what we just did ‘letting you in’ then I don’t know what you thought that was.”

Charles cracks a smile, at least, but doesn’t let the subject drop. “I mean into your mind.”

Magneto doesn’t answer. He’s too busy wondering why he can feel Charles’ mind at all. What kind of an illusion could duplicate a power like Charles’? Not even in Magneto’s most vivid dreams, in which he can recall every freckle, every breath, can he actually feel Charles’ telepathy. And yet here, now, he can. Someone put a lot of effort into all this, he thinks. And nothing this perfect could ever survive for long.

It takes a minute or two for Charles to accept the silence for the non-answer that it is. He kisses Magneto’s bare shoulder and says sadly, “I don’t know what’s come over you today, but I hope it doesn’t last.”

“It won’t,” he sighs, and his voice is just as sad.

A lock of hair has fallen over Charles’ forehead, and with a sigh of defeat, Magneto gives in and allows himself to brush it back.  Charles’ hair isn’t as long as he remembers it being – perhaps he only remembers it long in comparison. If anything it’s a helpful reminder of who he is not in bed with. He runs his fingers through again, and this time holds the hair back, covers it with his hand. It’s almost Charles. But not quite.

“Why do you keep pushing my hair back?” Charles fixes it back to the way he likes it.

“I’m just imagining what you’ll look like bald.”

Charles laughs. “I know I’ve said I’d do anything for you, but I draw the line at shaving my head, thank you very much.”

Magneto cracks a smile. “Give it time.”

Charles rolls his eyes with fond exasperation, muttering, “You think you can talk me into anything, don’t you?” and rests his head on Magneto’s chest.

His Charles would never curl up on top of him like this, Magneto thinks. He tries to imagine it, tries to picture 70 year old, bald, ferocious Professor X using his pectorals as a pillow, tracing circles around his belly button. He can’t. Charles would never. Charles would sooner curl up in bed with Satan himself; he would probably regard it as much the same thing. This is definitely not his Charles, then, he decides, and presses a kiss to this Young Charles’ forehead.

“So what do we do now?” Charles says.

“I wouldn’t say no to a sandwich.”

That earns him a playful smack. “I mean in general. There are eight people downstairs who think we’re in here strategizing, in case you’ve forgotten.” He sighs. “I’m pretty sure the CIA is through with us, not that I would want to work for them again. And after everything we’ve been through here, I can’t say that I would want to go back to Oxford. And even if I did, I doubt you would be willing to come with me. I meant what I said about building a world for mutants. But where do we begin?”

Well, this is hilarious. “Oh, I don’t know, Charles.” A smirk creeps across his face. “Did you ever think about turning this place into a boarding school for young mutants?”

He expects Charles to be hurt or defensive for making fun of his brilliant idea. He doesn’t expect him to respond with equal sarcasm. “Oh, yes. A school. That’s a great idea. And what will you teach? Espionage? Knife wielding for beginners?”

And he certainly doesn’t expect that he would be the one feeling hurt and defensive. Suddenly it doesn’t matter if this is an illusion or not: the old grudges that he’d put aside in the name of enjoying this day come roaring back. “I know that’s all you think of me, but I could have been a teacher if I wanted to be one,” he snaps.

“I was only teasing, Erik. You don’t have to bite my head off.” Charles eyes Magneto, who can’t seem to unclench his jaw or slow his suddenly sped up heart rate, with barely guarded suspicion. But instead of questioning him, like Magneto expects he might, Charles indulges him. “You’re the smartest person I know. You’re right. You could definitely be a teacher if you wanted to be one. But do you? Really?” He waits for an answer that Magneto doesn’t give. “You would be terrifying as a teacher. I know I would never forget to do the reading.”

Magneto wants to say no, that he wants to rule the world, but he’s Erik, and he’s in Charles’ bed, and Charles is asking him if he wants to be a teacher at his school. Magneto finds himself toying with the hem of Charles’ white cotton sheet. “I could teach languages,” he says quietly. “And help the students learn to control their powers. The only person I had helping me with my powers was Shaw. It would be--” he sighs, and can’t believe he’s saying this out loud. “I would have liked to have been able to offer someone the kind of guidance I never had.” Charles looks up at him with an expression that turns Magneto pink. “And a little bit of beginner’s espionage wouldn’t hurt, either,” he adds for good measure. He doesn’t care to be found adorable.

“You really want to open a school? Here?”

“Don’t you?”

Charles frowns. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought of it.” He nibbles at his bottom lip. “I suppose I thought we would be out in the world, finding other mutants, protecting them, fighting for them. If we were running a school, we’d have to stay here and actually run it.”

 _He’s lying,_  Magneto thinks. His Charles had been planning his school the whole time and didn’t tell him. That was why he said no that day on the beach when Erik asked Charles to join him: he had his own plans for the school and he didn’t want Erik to be a part of it.

“I think you would like it,” Magneto says with a twang of bitterness. “You could turn this place into a mutant Mecca. You wouldn’t have to go anywhere. All the mutants would come to you.” But his heart stops as soon as the words leave his mouth. Charles isn’t lying. He would have wanted to go out into the world and fight for mutantkind. He couldn’t. That’s why he built the school: he had to bring mutantkind to him.

“Mutant Mecca?” Charles is humoring him, seemingly oblivious to the realization dawning over Magneto. “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. School is… classes and paperwork and rules… I don’t think I would like being stuck in this house like that. I think I would get lonely.”

Magneto doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. He can’t. Something sour is tearing through him and leaving him on the edge of a sob. It’s grief, he realizes: grief for forty years of thinking Charles was building an empire against him when all he was doing was making the best of what Erik left him with. He barely chokes out the words, “I wouldn’t have let you be lonely,” getting the tenses all wrong, but not caring, not one bit.

Charles seems touched, if puzzled, and kisses him full on the lips, leaving Magneto reeling. He drowns himself in it like it’s the last kiss from Charles he’ll ever have. It probably will be.

“All right,” Charles says when they’ve parted. “Tell me about this school you’ve got your heart on.”

If Magneto was really Erik, and this was really now, and the future was not the past, he would be describing an imaginary school, one that sounded more like a far-fetched, idealist fantasy than a functioning institution. It still sounds that way. Not only because the heights that the Xavier Institute has reached in his day seem so wildly unrealistic in 1962, but because he’s describing it as an outsider looking in. He doesn’t actually know the inner workings of the school (slash mutant training facility, slash base for mutant paramilitary operations), so his thoughts are all as half baked as they would be if he were making it up on the spot.

He’s halfway through accidentally volunteering himself as headmaster when he realizes that the things he’s describing are actually just his old fantasies from back when he thought he might still come crawling back to Charles: he’s telling Young Charles all about the life he imagined he’d have if he only thought his Charles would have let him. Before he knows what he’s saying he’s telling Charles that he can’t see himself planning a curriculum – that’s much more Charles’ area – but he could definitely handle running the day-to-day aspect of the institution: organizing the place, keeping the students in line, making sure no one got themselves accidentally killed, while Charles would handle the actual academia. The X-Men, of course, they would lead together, but already he doesn’t want to call their team X-Men, because really it should be M, for mutant – and maybe a little bit Magneto – although The M-Men sounds just silly. But they still have to fight, of course. There are still battles to be fought out in the world, and they could do it together.

“A school, then,” Charles says with a sparkle in his eye. “I think it might work.”

Magneto swallows a lump in his throat. “But would you…” He shakes his head, finds his courage. “Would you let me? Would you let me stay? And be a part of it?”

The look on Young Charles’ face at that moment, Magneto realizes, is the reason he’s here. “Let you stay? Erik, I wouldn’t do this without you.”

It’s not real, and it’s more than likely that Young Charles doesn’t mean it, will take it back as soon as he comes to his senses, but it’s still the happiest moment Magneto has had for a very, very long time. The day is almost over, and tomorrow he’ll be back in reality, but as far as Magneto is concerned, it’s all been worth it.

“Do you feel like playing chess?” Charles asks.

“Sure. Why not?”

Charles goes down to the kitchen and brings them some sandwiches and a bottle of wine, and they play chess in bed – two out of three – then three out of five – until they can no longer keep their eyes open. They set the game aside carefully to continue in the morning. Magneto won’t be here in the morning – he’ll be back in his own body, back in his own time – but he likes to think, as he drifts off with Charles in his arms, that Erik will win the next game.

 

*

 

Morning.

_This can’t still be happening. This can’t be real. It can’t be._

Magneto sits bolt upright. The heavy drapes on Charles’ fourteen-foot windows are pulled back, revealing the colorful autumn grounds of the Xavier estate, but Charles himself isn’t here. Magneto scans the bedroom looking for – what? A computer? Something made wheelchair accessible? There is nothing that would place him anywhere but 1962, no matter how frantically he thinks, _No, no. No. No._  Maybe he’s missing something. Maybe he somehow actually went to the X-Mansion. Maybe yesterday he was in some sort of fugue state and that’s why he can’t remember traveling to New York, or how he ended up in Professor X’s bed. That seems more likely than –

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Erik.

“No. No, this can’t be happening.”

Yesterday had been a dream come true, quite literally, but he can’t live in a dream. He has work to do. He has a life to get back to. And more importantly, it is becoming more and more clear to Magneto that _someone is doing this to him._  Someone is toying with him. Someone is torturing him. Someone is dangling all this in front of him – why else but to snatch it away? He’s been put in a child’s sandcastle, and it’s only a matter of time before that kid decides he’s Godzilla and stomps all over it. And what can he do about it? He’s trapped.

He leaps out of bed and scrambles out the door and down the hallway, still hoping to find himself in the present. Still no Wi-Fi in the air. Still no students running through the halls. Maybe the elevator isn’t here because it… moved. That’s possible. Maybe the elevator moved since the last time he was here. He takes the stairs anyway.

Voices are coming from the kitchen area. Gingerly he steps closer and pushes open the door.

Young Charles is standing in front of the stove making pancakes.

Magneto’s stomach drops. He’s still here. Charles is still Young Charles. This can’t be happening. He must be losing his mind. He must be. He must.

Mystique, Beast, Azazel, and Havok are all sitting at the kitchen table together.

Magneto’s skin goes cold.

Charles puts aside cooking – no, burning – the pancakes long enough to turn to him with a grin.

He barely hears Charles say, “Good morning, Headmaster.”

Quickly Magneto’s vision is closing down to pinpricks, and he begins to stumble. He blinks furiously, trying to focus his eyes, and when he finally manages it, what does he see?

Azazel eating pancakes.

Only a small choking sound escapes his lips before Magneto’s eyes roll back and he slumps head first into the edge of the table with a heavy clunk.


	4. Chapter 4

“Am I dead?”

“No,” Magneto hears Young Charles say, “but you’re bleeding.”

Magneto is still on the kitchen floor. He opens his eyes and Young Charles is standing over him, handing him a damp cloth. He’s frowning, but Magneto gets the impression that it’s not the cut on his forehead that’s worrying Charles.

“How long was I out?” Magneto asks.

“Only for a second.” Charles offers him a hand. “Can you get up?”

Magneto takes Charles’ hand and hoists himself up from the floor, but he’s still wobbling when he gets to his feet, so Charles helps him over to a couch in a nearby sitting room. Charles gets him situated – puts a pillow behind his head – and then steps back a few feet, still frowning, his arms crossed over his chest.

A few minutes go by in silence before Magneto finally asks, “What is it?”

Charles’s frown deepens. “Are you Erik Lehnsherr?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I caught a glimpse in those few seconds you were passed out.”

Magneto tenses. “A glimpse of what?”

“I’m not sure.” He faces Magneto, his expression unmoving. “I think perhaps that’s something you should tell me.”

“I am Erik.” It’s not a lie. He was Erik at one time. Still, when Magneto swallows a lump in his throat, he finds himself wishing it were true, that he was the Erik that this Charles knows.

“You are him,” Charles says thoughtfully, “but you aren’t.”

Charles obviously didn’t see enough in those brief moments to understand who he really is, or else Charles would just come out with it. It was only enough to show him that something is wrong.  But Magneto is not yet ready to face this reality, to be Magneto publicly again, so he does what he’s always done: argue with Charles.

“What exactly are you accusing me of? Not being me? What sort of sense does that make?”

Charles’ frown deepens and he takes another few anxious steps back away from Magneto.

“You get a brief glimpse into the mind of a disoriented man and accuse him of not being himself?” Magneto rails on. “Well done, Charles. I believe that’s the definition of disoriented. Any human with a dictionary could make that diagnosis. Tell me, then. If I’m not Erik, who am I?”

Charles is straining to enter Magneto’s mind and find out, but Magneto is repelling him with every atom at his disposal. After a few tense minutes, Charles gives up and turns to leave the room without another word.

“Send in Mystique,” Magneto calls after him.

Charles pauses at the door and looks back at him. “Get yourself together and meet me out front. We leave in an hour. And put on a suit.” He leaves the room before Magneto can ask where they’re going.

Mystique enters the room only seconds after Charles has left. “What’s up, doc?” she asks, eager as ever.

“I need you to find out what’s going on,” Magneto says, and pulls the cloth away from his forehead. It’s soaked in blood.

“Here, let me take that.” She comes to his side and turns the rag over in her hand, looking for a clean spot, then holds it tenderly against his forehead. He’d forgotten that she had her eyes on him at first, but it’s clear to him now, the way she’s brushing his hair back and playing nursemaid. It’s making Magneto uneasy, to be honest, seeing his most trusted lieutenant play the damsel for him. He takes the cloth away from her and tends to the cut himself. She backs off.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asks her. “I need your help.”

“You said you wanted me to find out what’s going on. What do you mean?”

“Have you noticed anything unusual in the past two days?”

“Yesterday we put on jumpsuits and flew down to Cuba to stop a nuclear war and now the house is filled with mutants and Charles is talking about opening a school. Is that unusual enough for you?”

Magneto shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean.” But what did he mean? What sort of signs might there be that something is awry? What is he supposed to ask Mystique to do – keep an eye on the space time continuum? “Just please let me know if you come across anything unexplainable. I need you to keep me informed about anything strange happening in or around the house. If there’s anything you find you can’t account for, I want you to report it directly to me.”

Mystique nods.

“And can you get me a bandage or something?”

“Sure.”

“And bring me some coffee and something to eat. Some bread, maybe. Not Charles’ burnt pancakes.” That makes her smile. “Since when does Charles cook?”

“He doesn’t. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him near a stove. I guess he wanted to make Azazel and Angel and Janos feel welcome, but he already said that he’s never cooking again.”

“Good.”

Mystique laughs lightly, leans over, and kisses Magneto on the lips. It’s like a car wreck: she’s moving towards him, lips first, in slow motion, and Magneto can do nothing but watch it happen. He can’t stop it, can’t undo it.  It’s horrifying.

She pulls away when he doesn’t reciprocate, and the soft smile on her face disappears when she gets a look at the expression on Magneto’s.

“Please don’t do that again,” he says, his voice hoarse but firm.

She looks gutted. “But… the other night…”

Magneto wonders, not for the first time, what in the hell Erik was thinking. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. You are my right hand, and you are extremely important to me, but there will be nothing going on between us, do you understand?”

She nods.

“Bring me my breakfast.”

She nods again and leaves at once.

It’s only after she’s gone that he thinks he might have been a little harsh. This isn’t Mystique, after all. This is Raven. But he doesn’t get a chance to explain himself or make amends: when she comes back, she drops a plate of pancakes, a cup of coffee, and a box of Band-Aids on a nearby table, then turns on her heel and marches back out the way she came. She’ll get over it, he tells himself, and takes a bite of a pancake. It’s cold, burnt on the outside, and raw on the inside. He suspects Raven might have pulled it out of the garbage.

 

*

 

When his forehead stops bleeding, Magneto puts on a suit, per Charles’ instructions, and goes to meet him in front of the house.

Young Charles pulls up to the front door driving an enormous, gleaming new (old) Cadillac and looking like Cary Grant, wearing an impeccable suit and a pair of vintage designer sunglasses that would probably go for thousands of dollars in Magneto’s day. He leans over and unlocks the passenger side door. “Hop in,” he says, and Magneto can’t help but feel his heart flutter a little bit.

“Where are we going?” he asks as they drive away from the house.

Charles looks over at him warily and hands him a slip of paper.

“3946 Kingsland Ave, Baychester, NY,” he reads. “Where’s that?”

“The Bronx.”

“And why are we going to the Bronx?”

Charles doesn’t say anything.

“Are you angry with me?”

“I’m not angry with you.” He pauses. “Yet.”

“Oh, for godssake,” Magneto mutters.

“Do you plan to tell me why you’ve shut me out of your mind for the past two days? Or why, for that matter, your mind appears to be that of an almost completely different person from before?”

Magneto considers his options: He could confess, which would ruin everything. He could lie and say that Charles was imagining things and nothing was wrong, which would only make Charles more suspicious. Or he could bide his time. “I’m sorry I’ve been acting strange lately. I promise you things will be back to normal soon. And I will explain everything. Just not now.”

He can see Charles considering it.

“I’m just a little shaken by this whole thing with Shaw,” he adds for good measure, trying to sound distressed, and though it sounds phony to his ears, Charles seems to buy it. He reaches over the wide bench seat and pats Magneto on the thigh.

“Maybe this will be a good distraction for you, then. We’re going to the Bronx because there’s a young mutant there named Penny,” Charles says. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since I saw her in Cerebro, but she’s only six, so I could hardly recruit her to work for the CIA.”

Magneto thinks back and tries to remember if he ever heard of a mutant named Penny, but he can’t recall a single one.

“What sort of mutation does she have?”

“A rather useful one, actually: she has a gift for language. She’s six years old and she already speaks English, Italian, Yiddish, French, German, Polish, Russian, Hungarian, Spanish, and Czech – just languages she’s picked up from hearing them around the city. She just understands them like that.” He snaps his fingers. “She reads probably more than you or I do, combined. She barely glances at the page, she can just absorb it. I think she’s probably more of a codebreaker than anything else, but that talent seems to express itself in language.”

“And she’s six?”

“Six years old. Just started the first grade. Her parents are gone: her mother was Italian and her father was black, and I gather it was a bit of a scandal. Her father was run out of the neighborhood and her mother passed away not long after. She lives with her grandparents.” Charles’ grip on the steering wheel tightens. “That’s why I don’t want to wait. Her grandfather is… well he ran the poor child’s father out of town. He’s not exactly warm and cuddly. He’s starting to find out that she’s different from other little girls in more ways than just her skin tone and she’s… frightened. I don’t want to think what he might do to her down the line.”

They turn onto the Saw Mill River Parkway and Magneto drums his fingers on his knee. He definitely would have known of a mutant codebreaker in his own time if one had been around. If one had lived past the age of six.

“What are you going to do?” he asks Charles.

“Well, we’ll offer her a place at our school.”

“We don’t have a school yet.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m a telepath and her grandparents don’t have to know that.”

 

*

 

They pull up to the house around 11:30 in the morning. It’s a Wednesday, so the street is quiet. Penny is probably at school, probably listening to a lesson about farm animals and writing in cursive. But there’s a beat up old Ford in the shared driveway and music coming from the red brick house, so Charles and Magneto climb the steps to ring the doorbell.

Penny’s grandmother answers the door in her housecoat, a dog yapping in the background. “Who are you?” she asks, without preamble.

“You must be Mrs. Malone,” Charles says, turning on the charm, “My name is Professor Xavier and this is my colleague, Professor Lehnsherr.”

“I already go to church,” she says, and shuts the door.

But Charles sticks his foot in the doorway to stop it. “We’re not here to talk to you about Jesus, ma’am, we’re here to talk to you about Penny.”

Slowly she opens the door again, saying nothing, but now eyeing the pair of them a bit more carefully.

“Your granddaughter,” Charles says, “is capable of incredible things. She is a gifted child, and as a result she has been awarded a full scholarship to the Xavier Lehnsherr Academy in New Salem, NY.”

Still Mrs. Malone says nothing.

Charles clears his throat. “This would include tuition as well as room and board and all associated fees. Penny would get the finest education available and without a dime out of your pockets.”

When Mrs. Malone still doesn’t respond, Magneto pipes up, “Children who go to this school grow up to become world leaders. There is no better place in the world for…” he nearly chokes on the phrase, “gifted youngsters such as your granddaughter.”

Finally Mrs. Malone crosses her arms over her chest and levels them with a glare that makes even Magneto squirm. “Do you think I’m stupid?” she says.

"Pardon?”

“I already told you guys to leave her the hell alone.”

This time when she slams the door in their faces, Charles lets it shut, but puts two fingers to his temple. After a moment his eyes go wide and, cursing under his breath, he runs down the steps and back to the car.

“What is it?” Magneto calls after him. “What guys?”

“The CIA!” Charles shouts, and he slams his fist on the hood of the Cadillac. “They came for her this morning.”

Magneto runs to catch up with Charles. “And what happened?”

“She told them to leave Penny alone, but do you really think they will?”

“No, they won’t.”

“Get in the car,” Charles says, opening the driver’s side door for himself. “We have to go find her before they do.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for child abuse.

“Which one is Penny?” Erik asks. They’re parked across the street from the playground at St. Cecelia’s School for Girls, watching the crowds of little girls in blue plaid skirts jumping rope and shouting and playing hopscotch.

A smile creeps across Charles’ face as he points.

Amongst the monkey bars and games of “Mother May I,” there’s a girl with a blue bow in her short brown hair sitting against the chain link fence. She’s smaller than most of the other girls – so much so that Magneto almost can’t see her behind the enormous book in her hands.

“I can’t make out the title,” Magneto says. “What’s she reading?”

“I don’t know, but it’s in Norwegian.”

Magneto lets out a laugh in spite of himself. “Where in the world did she pick up Norwegian? Is there a Norwegian community in the Bronx that I don’t know about?”

“I doubt it. Maybe she figured it out herself. Maybe she’s figuring it out right now.”

He watches as she flips through the pages, frowning deeply, her tongue sticking out just slightly. If there had been any doubt in Magneto’s mind as to whether he’d met this girl in his other life (his real life), it all disappears when he sees her suddenly burst out laughing all by herself in the schoolyard at something she read in Norwegian. There is no way he could have forgotten her. He would never forget her. And if they don’t do something to make sure she’s safe, she will be nothing but a memory.

He’s lost in thought when Charles taps him on the arm and points towards another sedan parked opposite the playground. There are two men sitting in it, both wearing dark suits. “CIA,” he says.

“What are they doing?”

“Just watching her.”

A wave of protectiveness floods over him. “Creeps.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “And what do you think we’re doing?”

“Saving her,” Magneto says, still watching Penny. “How do we get her out of here?” When he turns he finds Charles studying him, and Magneto can’t imagine what that fond yet suspicious look on his face is supposed to mean.

After a moment Charles looks away from him and back towards the other car. “I think we need to worry less about getting her out of here than getting the CIA away from her.”

Magneto remembers the government labs of these early years: the torture disguised as experiments, the suffering excused by science. He remembers the survivors they found – Penny was not among them. “You’re right,” Magneto says. “We have to kill them first, then we bring Penny home with us.”

“What?” Charles bursts. “You want to kill those men?” Now this expression Magneto knows well: Charles is horrified at him.

Still Magneto stands his ground.

“Do you think she’s the only kid they have their eyes on? Do you think if they leave here they’re just going to go home and watch TV? You know better than anyone how many mutants there are in this world and if they can’t get their hands on her they’ll just go find some other little girl to experiment on.”

Charles’ expression of horror turns to concern. “Experiment on? You don’t really think…”

“See for yourself, Charles.”

With two fingers to his forehead, Charles turns back to the two CIA agents in the car a block away, and this time it’s clear that he’s concentrating. After a few moments, his hand falls slowly to his side and when he looks up at Magneto, all the color has drained out of his face.

“How could you have known?” he asks.

“So they are planning to experiment on her?”

“They weren’t going to take her just yet,” Charles gulps, “but they’ve taken others. She’ll be next soon enough. Probably at the end of the week. You’re right. We need to deal with these CIA agents first.”

Magneto blinks. Did Charles just tell him he was right?

“But I’m not killing them,” Charles says. “That’s absurd.”

“Then what are you going to do? Ask them nicely to go away?”

Charles rubs his face with his hands, looking completely distraught.

“It’s us or them, Charles.” Magneto cannot believe he’s having this conversation again. “Stopping them once isn’t going to change anything. This isn’t the end for them unless we make it their end. You can’t make them stop chasing mutants. You can’t change their minds.”

“Yes I can,” Charles says, and again raises two fingers to his temple. Magneto watches, stunned, as Charles tenses for a minute, his eyes far away, then relaxes, looking pleased with himself. Down the block, the two CIA agents get out of their car and ring the doorbell on the nearest house.

“What are they doing?” asks Magneto.

“Asking the neighbors if they’ve heard of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.”

Magneto’s jaw drops. This is definitely not his Charles.

Charles is wearing a smug look on his face as he stretches his arm over the back of the seat. “I've rewritten their entire personal histories. They should be about as much use to the CIA now as Sister Mary Matilda over there.”

“But, but you,” Magneto sputters. “Did you really just do that?”

“Do you have a better idea? Other than killing them. I’m not killing them.”

Magneto’s mouth opens and closes like a dying fish a couple of times before he finally asks, “And what are you going to do when the CIA figures out that two of their agents have suddenly become devout Mormons? They’ll know it was you. They’ve met you, don’t forget. Up until a couple of weeks ago you worked for them.”

“Then they’ll know that we won’t tolerate them treating children like lab rats. And anyway they’ll be halfway to Utah before the CIA thinks to look for them.”

Slowly Magneto’s shock turns, and he finds himself laughing. It was that easy. It could have always been this easy. His laughter builds until he finds himself wheezing and wiping tears from his eyes.

“What’s so funny?” Charles asks.

“You never would have done that,” Magneto chokes out between giggles, “You never would have done that before.”

“Before you, you mean? Probably not.” Charles begins to laugh, too. “That’s why we’re a good team,” he says, and claps Magneto on the shoulder.

Magneto stops laughing then. “Do you really think so?” he asks.

“Of course I do.”

Magneto doesn’t know what to think of that.

The schoolbell rings, and all the girls run across the pavement to the nun standing at the door – all except Penny, that is, who takes her time closing her book and lining up behind her classmates. None of the other kids turn to her or talk to her. She hangs back alone, looking fearful of the other students, clutching her book to her chest, and waiting to go inside. Magneto remembers being that kid on the playground; back then it had less to do with his abilities and more to do with the star sewn onto his jacket.

“School gets out at 3:15,” Charles says. “She’s safe for now. Let’s go get some lunch.” They pull away from the curb after the girls have filed back into the classroom and drive around until they come across a diner.

They’re seated near a window and order a pair of sandwiches that are delivered way too fast. They have hours to kill before Penny is home from school, so they fill their time with bottomless cups of coffee and magazines left behind by previous diners, and thanks to some gentle mental nudging from Charles, none of the staff seems to care that they’re not giving up their booth.

After about an hour, Charles puts down [the issue of Life](http://books.google.com/books?id=eVUEAAAAMBAJ&lpg=PP1&ots=9lqcSSeRx4&dq=life%20magazine%201962&pg=PP1#v=onepage&q&f=false) and sighs deeply, rubbing at his eyes.

“What is it?” Magneto asks.

“I’m having second thoughts about this whole school idea,” Charles says.

Magneto’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

“Erik, we’re talking about--” He looks around and leans forward, dropping his voice. “We’re basically talking about kidnapping a six year old girl. What in God’s name are we thinking? How are we any better than those men from the CIA?”

“We’re better because we’re saving her life.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “I think you’re being a little melodramatic.”

“I’m not, Charles. They would have killed her. We are saving this girl’s life. You said yourself that you’ve been worrying about her since Cerebro, and now we know for a fact that the CIA is after her.”

“Even so, we can’t just take her.”

Magneto finds himself getting worked up. He refuses to believe that there would be a Charles in any world who wouldn’t fight for a kid who would be his student. “How else are you going to make sure she’s safe? Are you going to put the red-headed one on 24-hour Penny surveillance? This school is necessary, Charles. How will there ever be more mutants in this world if they don’t survive childhood?”

“We would be taking a six year old kid away from her family under false pretenses. This school is fiction. We made it up last night.”

“It’s not fiction!” he almost shouts. _This is the fiction_ , he wants to say. _You are the fiction_.

“It’s a lovely idea, Erik, but I’m not sure it’s the right one for right now. At the moment I think the CIA threat is a bit more pressing.”

Magneto agrees. It is more pressing. It was. He’d spent the entirety of the early sixties fighting threats such as these. But all the while Charles was building his school, and though he never admitted it out loud, the school was always just as necessary. He can’t imagine a mutant America without the XavierAcademy and he doesn’t want to.

“We will fight the CIA, but mutantkind needs your school,” he says, and it feels like a confession. “It needs a place where its children are safe. There is no next generation of mutants if they all end up on milk cartons. Your school makes people proud to be mutants.” As he says it, a thought occurs to him, and he sighs in defeat. “If you went through all this trouble bringing me back here just to get me to admit that, then congratulations. You did it.”

Charles takes a moment, then asks, “Why do you keep calling it my school? This was all your idea, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Charles, I’m serious. Penny and hundreds of other mutant children will be either abandoned or abused or killed or lost to CIA labs if they don’t have someplace else to go. And then in twenty years how many mutants will there be? What will the mutant population look like in fifty years? Or a hundred?”

Charles slumps back in the diner booth and crosses his arms. “You’re right that there needs to be a safe space, but we can’t just start stealing children like a pair of Pied Pipers.” He raises his hand before Magneto begins arguing again. “We’ll go back to Penny’s house and we will offer her admission to our school beginning next fall. That will give us some time to think things through. And until then we will continue to check in on her. Agreed?”

Magneto clenches his jaw. “Fine,” he says, and goes back to [his issue of Popular Science](http://books.google.com/books?id=BiEDAAAAMBAJ&lpg=PP1&pg=PP1#v=onepage&q&f=false).

“I don’t even have anything to give them,” Charles says. “We should have written up an offer letter or something.”

Magneto tears a page out of the magazine and hands it to him. “Give them this. Make them think it’s a school brochure or something.”

Charles smirks. “Devious.”

“Did you expect anything else?”

At 3:45 they pay their bill (Charles doesn’t think Magneto notices the $20 tip, but he does) and get back in the car. They’re only a few blocks away from Penny’s house, but they think it will look more professional for them to drive up instead of walking over.

 When they pull up in front of the house again and park the car, Charles looks concerned.

“What’s the matter?” Magneto asks.

Charles shakes his head and says nothing, but leaps out of the car and slams the door shut. Magneto has to almost run to catch up with him as he bounds up the steps to the front door.

They stand there on the stoop for a minute to listen. There’s shouting going on inside.

“CIA!” a man screams. “Now we got the CIA on our case? Because of you?” There’s an ugly thump, and Charles gasps. He begins pounding on the door and ringing the bell, and doesn’t stop until the door swings open, revealing an older man with a wild look in his eyes: Penny’s grandfather. Behind him the dog is barking and Penny is crying. “Who the hell are you?” he asks.

Charles pauses, probably deciding what to do. After a moment he puts on a smile, as though he’s heard nothing, and says, “Hello, sir! My name is Professor Xavier and this is my colleague, Professor Lehnsherr. I believe we spoke to your lovely wife this morning about an opportunity for your granddaughter, Penny Malone.”

The man puffs up like an animal under threat. “Are you the CIA?”

“No, sir, we’re here to talk about a school--” Charles doesn’t finish the sentence before the door is slammed in their faces and bolted shut.

From inside they hear her grandfather scream, “And now who are those guys? How many more creeps are gonna come knocking on my door because of you? Do you see what trouble you are?” There’s a loud crack, and Charles looks terrified.

“He’s going to kill her. He’s going to kill her,” he says, raises his fingers to his temple as Magneto uses his powers to open the door. Penny’s grandfather is now completely placid and under Charles’ control.

They step inside and go straight for Penny, who’s backed into the corner of the living room, hugging her knees and crying.

“Is she hurt?” Magneto asks Charles. “Are you hurt?” he asks Penny. He crouches in front of her, debating whether or not to put a hand on her shoulder – he can’t imagine she wants to be touched by anyone at the moment.

Charles answers, “No, not yet. She’s only frightened.” He’s standing behind Magneto, looking at Penny’s grandparents, who he has frozen in place.

“What are you going to do?” Magneto asks quietly. “Make them Mormons, too?”

Pretending his eyes aren’t beginning to well, Charles turns to Penny. “If we could bring you someplace safe, would you want to come with us?”

Penny doesn’t answer, but her sobs are beginning to slow and she’s looking at her frozen grandparents with open curiosity.

“We know you have some special abilities,” Charles continues, “And so do we. So do a lot of us. And we have a place where we can all be safe.”

When Penny still doesn’t answer, Magneto says, “Ich heisse Erik, und das ist mein Freund, Charles. Wie heißt du?” _My name is Erik, and this is my friend, Charles. What is your name?_

Penny answers cautiously and quietly, “Ich heisse Penny.” _My name is Penny._

“Tu parle beaucoup de langues, n’est-ce pas?” he asks, switching to French. _You speak a lot of languages, don’t you?_

The sobs have stopped. “Oui, j’aime apprendre les langues.” _Yes, I like learning languages._

“Mi dispiace. Non parlo norvegese.” _I’m sorry. I don’t speak Norwegian_ , he says in Italian.

Penny almost cracks a smile.

“Pero puedo hacer esto.” _But I can do this,_ he says in Spanish, and floats a few knick-knacks into the air, causing Penny to gasp. “Puedo controlar metales.” _I can control metals._ “Some other friends of ours can fly, and make themselves look like different people, and blink themselves from one place to another. And Charles is a telepath. Do you know what that means?”

Penny nods and looks up at Charles with awe, or perhaps something approaching fear.

Charles swallows and tells her gently, “I can make it so he never hurts you again, and then in a year or so we’re going to start a school and you can come stay with us.” Penny’s lip starts to quiver again, and Magneto can see Charles give in. “Or you can come with us now.”

“I don’t want to stay here,” Penny sobs.

“Okay,” Charles says with a resigned smile. “You can come with us now.” Penny wipes her eyes and stands up. “Do you want to go get anything to bring with you?” She nods and goes upstairs.

When she’s gone, Magneto stands and puts his hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Are you still having second thoughts about the school?”

Charles doesn’t answer. Instead he says, “She’s already packed. She was going to run away, so she already packed her things.”

Sure enough, Penny comes back down the stairs only a minute later, a backpack on her shoulders and a stuffed bunny rabbit in her arms.

“Are you ready?” Charles asks her.

“I’m ready,” Penny says.

As they walk out to the car, she holds her hand out to Magneto, and to his surprise, he takes it.

 

*

 

That night, Magneto dreams of Charles.

Not this Charles. Not the one asleep next to him, who helped Penny feel welcome and cared for in his big house and who defended her presence to everyone under its roof, who brainwashed two CIA men and made two people think they’d sent their granddaughter off to a prestigious boarding school. He dreams of his Charles. The one this younger Charles is causing him to miss in a way that he hasn’t for many years.

He dreams of Charles in his wheelchair. They’re in front of the house and Charles won’t let him in. He’s so beautiful, Magneto thinks. Strong and proud and determined. And he won’t let Magneto anywhere near the door.

They’re bickering like they always do, but then it takes a turn and Charles is moving towards him with unchecked anger, accusing him of horrendous things, telling him he’s ashamed of him, pressing forward and forward until Magneto stumbles and is lying on the ground, and his Charles is looming over him from his chair, still beautiful, still determined, blue eyes still shining, and saying, “I will never let you in! Never!”

Magneto bolts awake. He’s still in Young Charles’ bed, which makes him sigh back into the pillow with both relief and disappointment. But he realizes after a second that it wasn’t the dream that woke him: it was the lamp. Young Charles has turned on the bedside lamp and is standing beside the bed.

“What is it?” Magneto asks, yawning.

“You’re not Erik,” he says. “You’re Magneto.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to me now that maybe I should have marked this noncon or dubcon, since Charles did not consent to having sex with Magneto; he consented to sex with Erik. Please consider this a warning that this distinction is alluded to in this chapter and will be brought up in the future, too.
> 
> Also I would like to thank turtletotem and unforgotten, who have both been acting as my betas and brainstorm partners throughout this fic. I really, really appreciate it!

“I knew that there was something going on, but I don’t understand,” Charles says, his voice ragged, the lamp casting shadows across his face. “You’re what? You’re from the future?”

Magneto sits up in bed and rubs at his eyes. He doesn’t know how he could possibly answer that without sounding like a complete lunatic, no matter how certain he is that Charles would know he’s telling the truth.

“How is this possible?” Charles asks calmly, but the calm only lasts a moment before his voice turns dangerous: “What did you do to him? Where’s Erik?” The anger makes him look like his Charles.

“I am Erik. I was him.”

“No, my Erik. The one who should be here. What have you done to him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how this happened. I don’t know how I got here. And I don’t know where he is.” He can feel Charles raking through his mind, confirming that it’s the truth.

“How long?”

“Two days. Since the morning of Cuba.”

“You mean since the morning you grabbed me and threatened to rip my blood out through my pores if I didn’t tell you what was going on.”

“Yes.”

Charles frowns deeper and Magneto can see the muscles in his jaw tighten, but his shoulders have relaxed. Whether he’s more angry or less angry compared to a minute ago, Magneto isn’t certain: this Charles’ body language is still foreign to him.

“So you’re him in the future?” Charles asks, and Magneto still isn’t quite sure if this Charles wants to strangle him or not. “How far in the future?”

“About thirty-eight years. I’ll be 71 in… well, I was going to turn 71 in a couple of weeks.”

Charles swallows deeply and Magneto sees he’s shaking. Quietly he asks, “Was that me? Was that me in your dream?”

Magneto nods. “Yes.”

“Was that…” He looks away, blinking fast. “Am I in a wheelchair?”

“No,” Magneto says, and Charles looks up at him, confused. “I mean, yes. He is. My Charles is in a wheelchair, but you’re not. If it was going to happen it would have happened in Cuba, but I stopped it this time.” Magneto lets himself feel a little proud of that – he’s done at least one thing right, he thinks – and a smirk creeps across his face. “I can’t do anything about your hair, though.”

Charles looks horrified. “I’ve been in a wheelchair since… since now? Since two days ago?” He gapes at Magneto for only a moment and then shakes his head as if it’s an Etch-A-Sketch, as if it will make the thought go away. “The things he was saying – the things I was saying – about the things you’ve done. Was any of that true?”

Young Charles is standing over him with those big blue eyes and earnestly hoping he’ll say it’s not true, but it is. It’s all true. Magneto doesn’t have to answer the question – he can plead the fifth all he likes – but with the truth out and his helmet buried beneath the ocean with Shaw, he can do nothing to stop Charles from knowing the answer. The antique clock on the mantle is suddenly deafening, clicking away the seconds until Charles finally accepts his silence.

“And were you going to tell me who you really were? Or were you just going to keep having sex with me when I thought you were someone else?” Charles asks with a bite.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think this was real.” He sighs. “I still can’t believe it’s real.”

“But here you are.”

“Yes,” Magneto says. “Here I am.”

“I think you should go sleep in your own bed.”

And with that, it’s over. This Charles is no longer going to bother pretending for Young Erik’s sake that they’re in love. Magneto manfully tries to hold back the threatening tears; he knew it was a ruse all along, of course, but he won’t say that he wasn’t enjoying the illusion, and he won’t deny that being kicked out of Charles’ bed hurts.

Charles looks pained as Magneto throws off the heavy wool blankets and, with as much dignity as he can muster, gets his toothbrush from Young Charles’ bathroom. As he reaches for the doorknob to leave this bedroom forever, Charles clears his throat.

“You’re not still together then, I take it. You and him.” His voice wavers only slightly.

Magneto turns back to him. “No, we’re not.” _And thanks for rubbing it in_ , he almost adds, but instead he only asks, “Which room is mine again?”

“Turn left and it’s the third door on the right.”

Magneto walks out without another glance in Young Charles’ direction, and though the secret is out, shuts him out of his mind again anyway.

The corridor isn’t completely dark: there is a lamp still on at the far end, leaving just enough light trickling through the hallway to make sure that no one trips on the way to the bathroom or down to the kitchen for a late night snack. He’s been here for two days now and the hallway still feels cartoonishly long, an endless repetition of doors, all closed and quiet.

Except for one. One of the doors, two down from where he’s standing, is cracked open, and when Magneto notices a pair of eyes watching him from about three and a half feet off the ground, he hears a gasp and the door closes. Two doors away from Charles: that was where they’d put Penny.

He knocks gently, and a minute later the door creaks open. Penny is peeking out from the other side, looking absolutely terrified.

“ _Ça va_ , Penny?” he asks with as much of a smile as he can muster at the moment. “Is everything all right?”

“I can’t sleep,” she whispers. “I think there are ghosts.”

Magneto smiles for real now. “Trust me, I’m the only ghost here.”

She opens the door a little bit wider. “I can’t remember where the bathroom is,” she says.

“Well, I’m not sure where it is, either, but I need to put my toothbrush away, so maybe we can go find it together.”

Penny hesitates a moment before nodding and stepping into the hallway. After a few steps, she takes Magneto’s hand again. He can’t imagine why she seems to like him. True, she doesn’t know anyone else, and he did kind of rescue her, and she did seem to like it when he spoke to her in different languages. He wonders if anyone else has ever done that for her before. Probably not.

“Okay, well, let’s see,” he murmurs. “It’s not that door. That’s my room. At least, I think it is. Let’s check.”

Together they turn the knob and slowly peek inside.

“Yep. That one’s mine. No bathroom there.”

“No bathroom there,” she repeats.

Hand in hand they walk to the next door.

“Do you think this is it?” he asks.

She makes a thinking face and taps her chin. “Ummm. I don’t know.”

“Should we check?”

She nods, and again, together they turn the doorknob and peek inside.

“Nope,” he says, shutting the door. “That’s the red headed one’s room. Did you meet him yet?”

Penny nods.

“Yeah, he’s not very interesting. Let’s keep looking.”

Magneto remembers then that the next door is the bathroom, but Penny seems to be enjoying their little game, so he leads her to the other side of the hallway where he knows there’s a small library. They peek inside.

“No bathroom,” says Penny.

“That’s the library. There are lots of books in there – probably some in Latin and Greek, too. Charles will let you borrow any book you want. You don’t even have to ask.”

“There are games in there, too,” she says. She must have noticed the chess board.

“Yes, there are.”

“Would you play with me tomorrow?” She’s looking up at him with pleading puppydog eyes and sticking out her bottom lip. Magneto has never once succumbed to such base tactics.

“You’re on,” he says. He was going to say yes anyway.

They close the door to the library and Penny drags him down to the next door. “Let’s look in here!” she says, and peeks inside.

They definitely shouldn’t have opened that one. Magneto only gets a glimpse of blue and red flesh, but it’s enough to identify as Mystique and Azazel and he shuts the door as quickly and quietly as he can, covering Penny’s eyes with his hand while he does so. Well, he thinks, at least she’s moved on from his rejection that morning.

“Definitely not the bathroom,” he says.

Penny is giggling, “Not the bathroom.”

Enough is enough. Magneto squeezes Penny’s hand gently and leads her over to the door he knows really is the bathroom and opens it wide. She looks scandalized.

“You know where it was the whole time!” she shouts.

“Shhhh…” Magneto holds a finger to his lips and ushers her inside. He sets his toothbrush down next to the sink and steps back out into the hallway to wait while she does her business. When she’s finished – and washed her hands, which Magneto has to remind her to do – he walks her back over to her bedroom and makes sure she’s in bed before he leaves.

“Will you tuck me in?” she asks.

Magneto smiles to himself and tucks her in the way his grandchildren like to be tucked in: blankets wrapped around them so tight he wonders how they’ll ever get out of bed in the morning. He wonders if he’ll ever see them again, and winces when he realizes that if he’s truly stuck here, he never will.

“What’s going to happen tomorrow?” Penny asks.

“I have no idea, Schatz.”

“I mean, am I going to go to school?”

“Not tomorrow, but we’ll have to get you enrolled. You’re too smart to hang around here all day.”

“Are you and Charles going to start a school?”

“I hope he does, but that won’t happen overnight, either.”

“Why were you sleeping in Charles’ room?”

Magneto doesn’t know how to answer that. After a moment he decides on, “Because we’re friends.” She seems to accept that. “I’m going back to my own bed now. Good night, Penny. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight,” she whispers back.

 

*

 

Magneto wishes desperately that he won’t wake up in the mansion again, but luck has never been on his side. He wakes up the following morning in his own twin sized bed in the Xavier mansion with an aching back. He’s still here. He’s going to have to face Young Charles again after all.

Or maybe not. It occurs to him, as he’s rolling around the bed trying to loosen the crick in his back, that he doesn’t have to stay here at all. He could take one of Charles’ cars and hit the road, go meet some new people, take Erik’s body out for a spin. He didn’t have a lot of fun when he was younger, back when he could, so maybe he should be making up for lost time. He’s only about sixty miles from Manhattan, after all: 1962 or not, there’s got to be a gay bar somewhere in New York. He’s Magneto. He can find it.

After a few minutes of rummaging through the closet, Magneto puts on a pair of slacks and pulls what was once his favorite turtleneck over his head, straps on his boots, combs his hair, throws on his shades, and takes a look at himself in the mirror. He looks good.

He feels ridiculous.

“I am seventy years old,” he mutters and tosses the sunglasses onto the bed. Did he really think he was going to go pick up guys? Guys in their twenties? He’s embarrassing himself.

Someone knocks at the door.

“Come in.”

It’s Young Charles, of course, and no doubt he overheard that little conversation Magneto just had with himself, because he’s blushing slightly. At least he’s too polite to point out to Magneto that they’ve been having sex and he’s barely out of his twenties himself. To compensate for the embarrassment, Magneto stands a little bit taller, puts his hands behind his back, and tries to look imposing.

It must work, because Charles looks a little cowed. It’s disconcerting – he’s not used to seeing Charles looking intimidated. In all his life Magneto thinks Charles is the only person he’s never been able to intimidate.

“I’ve been tossing and turning all night trying to figure out what to do about all this,” Charles says, not quite making eye contact, “and I still have no idea.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

“What would he do? Your Charles, I mean.”

“If I came to him and said ‘I’ve time traveled in my own body, what do I do?’”

“I suppose.”

“He would probably send me down to the lab to have Beast run all manner of tests on me, and then tell me that I can stay as long as I like, but I’m not to touch anything or talk to any of his students.”

“Would you mind if I asked Hank? I wasn’t going to say anything to the others, but if you say it’s all right, I wouldn’t mind bouncing some ideas off of him.”

“Go right ahead. Bounce away.”

“May I ask: where were you when it happened? Were you doing something unusual? Were you with someone in particular?”

“No, I was alone in my bed, sound asleep. When I opened my eyes and saw you naked next to me I thought I was having a particularly vivid sex dream.”

“Well that explains a bit about the other night,” Charles smirks.

Magneto levels Charles with a glare that withers away his smile. He’ll not have Young Charles reveling in Magneto’s lingering affection for him when it is not returned.

“What about earlier that day?” asks Charles, moving right along. “Anything unusual?”

“No,” he snaps, and Charles looks bitten.

“Right then.” Charles turns to leave, but stops. “One more question. What should we do about the CIA?”

Magneto carefully hides his surprise. In the past forty years his Charles has never once asked his opinion on anything more pressing than the Yankee’s starting lineup, and even then Charles called him an old fool for supporting Mariano Rivera.

“You want to know what I think?”

Charles shrugs. “Hindsight is 20/20, isn’t it? How did you handle it in your time?”

“It took me longer than I would have liked, but I finally tracked down the CIA’s facility, rescued the mutants they were holding inside, and then blew up the building with all the CIA personnel inside of it.”

Charles gawks at him for a minute, then asks, “What did I do?”

“You publicly condemned me and announced to the world that I was no more than a common criminal. You said that I was the enemy of humans and mutants alike, and that your mission was to prove to the world that mutants were better than I would have them believe.”

The blood drains out of Charles’ face. “Well,” he says, “let’s hope we can do better than that.”

Charles opens the door to leave, but Magneto can’t resist getting in one more barb. “Why don’t you ask your girlfriend?” he calls to Charles.

“Pardon?”

“Why don’t you ask Moira what you should do?”

Charles steps back into the room and shuts the door. “That’s not funny, Erik. I feel bad enough as it is. Please don't go joking about her in front of the others. I don't want them thinking I made this decision lightly.”

“What do you mean?”

"She's gone - haven't you noticed?"

"Gone?"

"I sent her back to Washington yesterday morning. I wiped her memory, like we talked about.”

Magneto’s careful cool disappears into something closer to flabbergasted. “You did what?”

“I thought we agreed it was safer – we can’t have anyone from the CIA knowing about us, not even Moira.”

Magneto's jaw drops. “Just like that? Wiped her memory?”

“Didn’t your Charles do the same thing?”

“No, he dated her.”

“What?”

“Oh yeah. For months after…” he trails off, not quite sure how to define “after” for this Charles. He decides on: “After me,” the sting of bitterness suddenly there in full force. “You had her lined up the whole time, ready to go as soon as you could be rid of me. Was it this CIA thing with Penny that changed your mind?”

Charles just stares at him. Caught, Magneto thinks: Charles isn’t used to being caught. Magneto tries not to gloat about it, but he does gloat, just a little. He’s been waiting for this moment far too long not to gloat.

Magneto pushes a bit more. “I’m from the future, Charles, don’t think I don’t know that you were planning to leave me for her.”

“I absolutely was not! I’ve been planning on wiping her memory the whole time! In fact I told you as much as soon as we found out she was coming with us up to New York.”

“Don’t lie to me, Charles. I know you’re attracted to women; you’ve never pretended otherwise. I know you were planning to date Moira when you were done with me.”

“Well, she’s certainly a beautiful woman and I wouldn’t kick her out of bed, but I’ve been dating you for the past few months, in case you haven’t noticed!”

And yet he’s the one getting kicked out of bed. But Magneto just shakes his head and turns back to the mirror. “Tell Beast to meet me in the lab in ten minutes. And have him bring me some coffee. Milk, no sugar.”

“Get your own damn coffee,” Charles spits, and slams the door behind him.

 

*

 

Magneto is in a foul mood after that, but he tries not to hold it against Beast when it takes him twenty minutes to reach the lab instead of ten: that’s probably Charles’ fault more than Beast’s. He does, however, hold it against him when Beast seems to be doing little more than giving him a routine physical. He allows Beast to weigh him and take his height, look in his ears and eyes, test his pupils for sensitivity with a little light, even take his blood pressure. But when Beast pulls out a little hammer to check the reflexes in his knees, Magneto has had enough.

“What exactly is the purpose of all this?” he snaps. “My knees work fine. I’m perfectly healthy.”

“Well excuse me, Erik, but I’m not exactly sure what the symptoms of intra-body time travel are. What do you expect me to do?”

In truth, Magneto was hoping Beast would hook him up to some contraption of his own design and say “Aha! I just push this button and…” poof, back to the present. He’s not about to admit that out loud, but Beast catches on.

“You seem to think that future me would have been able to figure this out,” he says.

“Future you would have at least had a theory and you don’t even seem to have that.” He pushes himself off the table and puts his shirt back on. “Do you have any ideas beyond taking my temperature and heart rate?”

“Not yet, no.”

“Then let me know when you do,” Magneto says, and heads back upstairs.

 

*

 

Magneto’s younger self isn’t any less of a caffeine addict than he is at 70, and his head is already threatening to ache if he doesn’t get some coffee, but first thing’s first: he goes back to his bedroom to change out of the turtleneck and into something a little less clingy. He doesn’t know how he could stand wearing his sweaters so tight.

Once he’s more comfortable, he then goes down to the kitchen, where he bumps into Mystique in the hallway. When she spots him she turns on her heel and heads in the opposite direction.

“Mystique,” he calls out to her, and she freezes, crosses her arms over her chest, and turns to glare at him. “I need to talk to you.”

“Why were you looking in my bedroom at 2:30 in the morning?”

He waves his hand, dismissing the question. “Don’t worry about that. I asked you to--”

“Don’t worry about that?” she interrupts. “Yesterday you told me that there would never be anything between us and then you come barging into my bedroom in the middle of the night.”

Magneto clenches his jaw. He does not care to be interrupted. “Yesterday I asked you to report to me if you discovered anything unusual.”

He waits, but she only glares at him. “So?” she asks.

“So where is my report?”

Raven gives him the finger. “Here’s your report. Stay out of my bedroom.”

If his Mystique ever spoke to him like that, he would… well, she would never speak to him like that. And he’s so stunned that she’s already walked away by the time he decides to tell her off. He’ll have to deal with her later, he decides, and goes to get his coffee.

Unfortunately, he can’t even do that in peace. Charles, Beast, Alex, and Azazel are in the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Magneto says, making a stab at cheerful, but apparently falling far short of the mark. They’re all glaring at him as he opens cabinet after cabinet looking for a mug. He finally finds one behind the fourth door, but the coffee pot is empty. “Would someone please make a fresh pot?” he asks, which is apparently infuriating to Alex, who mutters something and marches out of the room. Magneto can’t imagine why Alex is angry at him – he knows why the other three are – so he has to assume that Beast told him about their little checkup in the basement.

Beast doesn't seem to be as angry as Alex is about it because he pulls a bag of coffee grounds out of the refrigerator and hands it to him. “There are filters in the cabinet on the right,” he says.

“Thanks.”

They all watch him as he finds the filter, adds the coffee, and sets the machine to brew. The pot is half full before Magneto asks, “What? You’re all not talking to me now?”

The only answer he gets is from Azazel, who says nothing but disappears out of the room, presumably to go find Mystique.

“Fine,” he sighs, and pours himself a cup, adds some milk from the fridge, and takes his coffee up to his room.

As he marches up the stairs, he realizes he’s sulking. He’s actually sulking. He blames it on the body – sulking is a very Erik thing to do. Magneto doesn’t sulk. But still he’s pouting with each step. Charles broke up with him again. He was rude to Beast and now Beast won’t help him get home. Mystique hates him. Azazel hates him on Mystique’s behalf. Alex hates him on Beast’s behalf. He hasn’t seen the others but he’s sure they must hate him, too, and what the hell is he doing in this house when he’s clearly not wanted here?

He’s just about made up his mind to revisit the gay bar idea when Penny pops out into the hallway in front of him holding out a game of Scrabble.

“Vous aviez dit que vous joueriez avec moi."  _You said that you would play with me._

“Habe ich das gesagt?” he asks teasingly. _Did I say that?_

She nods vigorously, grinning up at him.

“Okay,” he says, a smile creeping over his face. “But you can’t play words in languages I don’t know.”

“Okay!”

Penny runs back into the library, and Magneto follows her in. At least someone in this house still likes him.


	7. Chapter 7

“That’s not a word!”

“Yes it is!”

“No it’s not. What language is that?”

“English!” Penny laughs and points at the Scrabble tiles. “M-O-U-S-E. Mouse!”

“Mouse? I think you’re making it up,” Magneto teases. “What’s a mouse?”

She giggles. “Like Mickey Mouse!” She stands up and starts waving her arms. “With big ears and a little nose.”

When she starts miming Steamboat Willie, Magneto hears someone chuckle behind him. Charles is standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching everything. Immediately the smile disappears from Magneto’s face and he stands up from the sofa. “I’m sorry, Penny; I think game time is over.”

“No!” Charles says, stepping into the room. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

Magneto doesn’t know whether to sit or stand. He’s sure that Charles is going to ask him to stay away from Penny – nothing annoys Charles like seeing Magneto talking to his students without permission – but damned if he’s going to kick himself out of the room. He needs to make some kind of a decision, though, since Penny is watching him for how to act, so he cautiously sits back down on the couch, still waiting to be told not to speak to her.

“Can I play, too?” Charles asks, as he pulls up a chair.

Penny hands Charles a tile holder and starts babbling about the rules of Scrabble with an enthusiasm found only in small children who have not had enough playmates. Through it all, Charles’s eyes are on Magneto, watching carefully as he fidgets in his seat.

“You get to pick seven letters from the bag, and you can’t look at what you’re picking because that would be cheating,” Penny explains to Charles. “Now it’s Erik’s turn and then it’s your turn. Because you go around in a circle like this and you sat over here so that means that Erik is still the next one in the circle but then you can play and then it’s my turn again.”

A few moments pass in silence before Magneto realizes they’re both waiting on him. “Oh. Sorry. My turn?”

“Your turn,” Charles says.

“Right.” Magneto focuses on his letters and calms his nerves – goes back to playing with Penny, regardless of Young Charles-who-knows-he’s-Magneto sitting right next to him. “Well, you played ‘mouse,’ so how about…” He lays out C-H-A-T.

“Chat?” asks Charles.

“Cat!” says Penny. “In French. We’re playing in English, French, German, Spanish, and Yiddish. But you don’t have to play in those if you don’t want to.”

“That’s very impressive,” Charles says, and he smiles warmly - not at Penny but at Magneto, who takes a sip at his coffee to make sure he’s not caught blushing.

“Your turn!”

Charles strokes his chin and looks down at his letters. “All right, I have a good one: zits,” he says, and lays it out on the board. “Thirteen points.”

Magneto arches his eyebrow. “No, that’s not thirteen points.” Charles has the Z on a triple letter score, the S on a triple word score and added onto the end of ‘queen’, making that a total of… “One hundred and forty-one points.”

“What!” Penny makes an exaggerated shocked face, and Charles’ own shocked face is so similar that Magneto actually laughs.

Penny looks at their scores. “You’re beating both of us now!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

Magneto turns to Penny. “You know what this means, don’t you?” She shakes her head. “It means that we’re going to have to combine forces to beat him!” She giggles as he grabs her around the waist and pulls her close to him, then drags her letters over to his side, too. She climbs into his lap and together they sort through their combined letters searching for something to out-score Charles.

They’re whispering about whether or not it would be fair to play a long Yiddish word against him when Mystique and Angel walk in.

“Are you ready?” Mystique asks.

Charles looks surprised. “Oh. I’m sorry,” he says. “This is why I came up here.” He turns to Penny. “I was going to ask you if you would go to the store with Raven and Angel to pick out some new clothes.” It had turned out that Penny’s running away suitcase only contained two pairs of underwear and one shirt – the rest of it was full of stuffed animals and books.

Penny frowns, and Charles’ face turns kindly. “I’m going to pay for all of it. Whatever you want. You don’t have to worry about any money. All you have to do is go with Raven and pick out some new clothes. We can’t have you going to school wearing the same thing every day.”

This seems to placate her, but still she looks up at Magneto as if for answers.

“I don’t know why you’re looking at me,” he says. “They’re the ones taking you shopping. Go get some new clothes – we can play later.”

Penny seems to accept that, because she climbs off of his lap and follows Mystique and Angel out the door, leaving Magneto alone with Young Charles.

“She’s crazy about you,” Charles says.

“Who, Penny?” He shrugs. “Kids like me. Can’t imagine why.”

“You like them, too. I can tell.” He smiles. “I never would have guessed, knowing Erik.”

“What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t seem to like kids very much. If there are children on the TV he walks out or changes the channel. He gets uncomfortable any time someone talks about kids. When you started talking about opening a school I should have known you weren’t him.”

“Charles.” He lowers his voice. “I was still mourning my own daughter in 1962. You know that. You know that better than anyone.”

Charles looks taken aback. “I – no, I didn’t know that. I mean I had some idea, but you never said anything. I didn’t want to pry.”

“You? Not wanting to pry?”

“Well, I do have some boundaries,” he says defensively.

“You thought I just didn’t like kids?”

No wonder his Charles didn’t think he’d want to be a part of his school.

Charles must have caught that stray thought, because he shakes his head sadly and says, “I never ever would have thought to imagine you in a school if the past couple of days hadn’t happened.”

Magneto sighs. “It doesn’t matter now. That was a long time ago. Or I guess not, technically, but here we are.”

A moment passes before Charles says, “I don’t think we got off on the right foot last night.”

“Was there a right foot? You kicked me out of bed.”

“Yes, well, I wish you would have informed me of who exactly I was in bed with. I thought I was in bed with my—” He stops before Magneto finds out what he was going to say. Boyfriend? Lover? “With my Erik,” he continues, “when in fact it’s been a stranger having sex with me under false pretenses for the past three nights.”

“I told you, I didn’t think you were real.”

“Well, I am real and you’ve been lying to me.”

Magneto swallows and sets his jaw. “I’m sorry for lying to you,” he says, though this Charles could never appreciate what a rare gem an apology from Magneto is. “But you can’t pretend that you haven’t lied to me.”

“When have I lied to you? And don’t tell me something your Charles said, because I’m not him.”

All of the examples he had in mind were, actually, his Charles, so he says, “Just an hour ago, when you said you weren’t planning to date Moira.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “Oh, not this again. I don’t know when you became jealous of Moira, but --”

“Jealous! I’m not jealous of Moira. I just don’t see why you won’t admit that you were planning to be with her when you were rid of me. I know exactly what would have happened if you let her stay until…” When did Moira leave in his lifetime? He can’t remember what ever happened to her. No matter – he’s not going to let that slow him down. “If she stayed longer than yesterday. If the whole thing with Penny hadn’t happened and made you want to send her away because she’s CIA.”

“First of all, I sent her away in the morning before we went to go find Penny, while you were lying on my couch with a bleeding head getting Raven upset – which, by the way, we need to talk about that at some point, too. Secondly, we talked about what I was going to do with Moira on our first night here.”

“Our first night here? When?”

“In bed.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to remember things we talked about in bed? Was this before or after we had sex?”

“After.”

“If we just had sex I was probably half asleep and had my face smashed into the pillow – how am I supposed to remember what we talked about forty years after the fact? I probably didn’t even remember it the next day.”

Charles’ face takes on an infuriatingly smug expression, as if he just won the argument, which he certainly did not.

“The point is that I was there. I know what would have happened. If you had managed to dump me before Moira was gone, like you did in my time, the two of you would have been a couple. You were keeping her on the backburner the whole time we were together. True or false?”

Charles just stares at him.

“I’m going to take that as a true.”

“I dumped you?” Charles asks, his eyes wide.

Magneto tries to make a snappy comeback, but nothing comes out. Forty years’ distance fades when the same Young Charles who didn’t want him is sitting right there, looking just the way he did staring up at him, teary-eyed, from that Cuban beach.

“When?”

“Two days ago. In Cuba.”

Charles blinks at him. “That can’t be right.”

“It is.”

“What happened?”

Magneto can’t believe he got himself into this conversation. He’s managed to avoid it for almost forty years. “I asked you to come with me, and you said no. You said we wanted different things. Then I found out a week later that you and Moira were a couple and you were planning to open a school without me.”

“After a week?”

“A week or two. Something like that. I was going to come see you – I was going to come grovel, basically, but apparently you had already moved on. Just like that. You must have been planning it all along.”

Back then, Magneto had spent months grieving for the fact that Charles had never loved him after all, but in this timeline, Young Charles is now the one who looks like he might cry.

But all he can say, in a choked voice, is, “I haven’t been planning anything.”

“Well, that’s what happened.”

“How long was I with Moira?”

“I don’t know exactly. Less than a year.”

When Charles stands, Magneto follows, but Charles isn’t leaving - he walks over to shut the door that Mystique, Angel, and Penny left open. When he turns back to face Magneto, he looks drawn. “I still don’t understand,” he says. “This would have been two days ago? The day you…” He makes a “time traveled within your body” gesture with his hands.

“Some timing, isn’t it? Just in time for you to break my heart again.”

Charles winces. “But… I love you. Him. Erik. I love him very much. I had no plans to break up with him. I still don’t, if he ever comes back.”

“Don’t say that,” Magneto says, shaking his head. “How can you say that to me?”

“It’s true!”

“It’s not, and it’s cruel for you to say that to me now, after everything.”

“Something must have happened,” Charles insists. “Something must have happened to change the way I felt. Either that or he and I are not the same person. What else happened that day?” His eyes flash. “The wheelchair. You said that happened in Cuba.”

Something sour begins to rise in Magneto’s throat, and as he swallows it down, his vision blurs with tears. He wipes at his eyes. “I keep crying,” he laughs as a tear falls down his cheek. “I never cry. It’s Erik’s body – it’s so quick to cry.”

Charles doesn’t seem amused. “Tell me what happened.”

“Cuba didn’t go very well.” He sighs and takes a deep breath. “It was a disaster, actually. We crashed the plane. I pulled the submarine out of the water – with your help – I couldn’t do it by myself then – and I dropped it. I went in to kill Shaw and it turned out” he almost laughs “turned out I couldn’t handle seeing him face to face after all. I lost it. I killed him. I stole his helmet. I got back outside and both the Russian and the American fleets were firing at us, so I stopped the missiles and aimed them back at the fleets. You tried to stop me – you said they were ‘innocent men following orders,’ which, my god, after forty years of Holocaust movies I hope the you I know has figured out that was a horrible thing to say. That only made me more upset, so I shot the missiles back at the fleets and you jumped on me and started hitting me and punching me, and then Moira started shooting at me.” He takes a breath. “I used my powers to deflect her shots and one of them went into your back.” Magneto realizes he’s shaking. “I didn’t know it had paralyzed you until later. When I was going to come see you and grovel, I was told that you were paralyzed from the waist down, that you and Moira seemed happy together, and you were already making plans to turn this place into a school for mutants without me.”

Charles’s eyes are red now and his hands are curled into fists. For a few moments it looks like Charles is just going to walk out of the room and never come back, but finally he speaks. “You missed the part where I broke up with you. When did that happen?”

“After you were shot. I got down on my knees and I asked you to come with me, I said that we could be together and fight for mutants. You said no. You said we wanted different things.”

“Well it sounds like you wanted to destroy the American and Russian navies – you’re damn right I don’t want that.”

“I thought Shaw had destroyed me, but I was wrong. Hearing you say that destroyed me," he sobs. "I wanted you to come with me. I said we would fight together, side by side. I thought that was what we both wanted - that was what we’d been talking about and planning this whole time, but that was all a lie – when it came time to decide if you really wanted to be with me, it turned out that everything you’d said when we were together was bullshit. When it was time to make the decision, when I finally asked, it turned out that no, you didn’t want to be with me after all. All that time we were together you made me feel like I was okay, like I wasn’t some horrible monster of a person, and then all in one swoop you said, ‘Nope, sorry, yes you are.’” He puts his hands on his hips and looks down at the floor, brushing a tear off of his cheek. “Every horrible thing I ever thought about myself, all the things that, when we were together, you made me feel like maybe they weren’t so bad, like maybe I could turn out okay – it turned out it was all true." He looks up. "I am that monster I feared I was. I’m Magneto.”

Quietly, Charles asks, “Did it ever occur to you that I was probably extremely angry with you?”

“Yes. That was why I was going to come see you and try to make amends. But you had already moved on, after what, a few days? That was what made me realize that you must have always felt that way, that you never seriously intended to stay with me, because you must have had Moira and this school in the works behind my back the whole time. And besides, when you said we didn’t want the same things, you weren’t angry. You were perfectly calm, like it was all inevitable, that it was going to come to that sooner or later anyway. When you’re angry with me, you yell and curse and say horrible things – that’s normal, that’s arguing. But that wasn’t what this was.”

Charles’ voice shakes when he says, “I haven’t had anything in the works. I haven’t been planning any school.”

“I know that now, yes.”

“I haven’t been planning to be with Moira. I haven’t been planning to leave you at all, ever. I thought that after forty years we would still be together.”

“Don’t say that.”

“And I don’t think you’re a monster – I still don’t. Not Erik, not Magneto. How could I watch you fight for a little girl and make her so happy and save her life – yes I figured that out – and still think you’re as horrible as you seem to think you are?”

“My Charles does.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I paralyzed him.”

Young Charles stiffens. “Yes, you did.” He taps his foot as if he’s testing it out. “But it sounds like you still see each other.”

“Sometimes.” Magneto shrugs. “It comes and goes. Sometimes we’re so close it seems like we might…” He shakes his head. “But then it passes and we’ll be at odds again.”

“You paralyzed me and we’re still friends. How can you think that I don’t love you?”

“You never said –”

“Did you?” When Magneto says nothing, Charles continues. “If you asked me yesterday what I would do if you accidentally shot me and put me in a wheelchair for the rest of my life, I don’t think I could even come close to imagining what I would do, but telling you to go away would probably be at the top of my list. And it sounds like that’s exactly what I did – I told you no, whatever it is you were asking for, no, and to please go away. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t love you. I do love you. I probably still do.”

Magneto sits back down on the sofa and, his elbows on his knees, rests his face in his hands “You’re right about one thing,” he says. “You can’t imagine what it was like.” He’s crying again, but this time he doesn’t blame Erik’s body. This is all him. And when Charles walks over to put a hand on his shoulder, Magneto doesn’t stop him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope all of my fellow New Yorkers/New Jerseyans are safe and sound after Hurricane Sandy!

Magneto last saw his Charles about two months earlier. Charles was testifying before Congress on the subject of a proposed bit of mutant rights legislation, and Magneto decided to go and show his support. It wasn’t the first time they were on the same side of an issue: in fact, that seems to be happening more and more often as time goes on, as mutants become more integrated into society and the debate becomes less about philosophies and more about practicalities. That doesn’t mean, however, that Charles necessarily wants the world to know that he and Magneto agree more often than they’ll admit, so Magneto found a seat in the back and rested his hat on his knee to quietly and discreetly watch the proceedings.

Charles was magnetic. He was articulate, compelling, charming... Charles missed his calling, Magneto thought. Charles could have been a great politician. Of course, he is a politician in many ways – politics is his field, whether it says so on his letterhead or not. But in another world, he could have been Lincoln. He could have been Churchill. He could have been king. He looks like a king.

Magneto didn’t stay long enough to find out whether or not Charles’ words had an impact: he left as soon as Charles was finished and went to loiter in the lobby. Nervous was never a good look on him, so he busied himself by reading every single label on every single portrait on the wall. He wanted to think that Charles would be happy to see him, but of course he had no idea how he would react – but honestly it had been almost a year since they’d borrowed that boy and they returned him without a scrape on him – it wasn’t Magneto’s fault that the kid freaked out like that – Charles really should be teaching his students how to stay calm under pressure – and if he thought Charles would have compromised with him he wouldn’t have had to borrow the kid in the first place.

It occurred to Magneto after about fifteen minutes that Charles probably wouldn’t enter or exit through the lobby, but just as he was about to leave to go casually take a stroll around the building – not looking for accessible exits, just getting some exercise – Charles appeared. 

He looked energized and youthful: knowing Charles, this sort of thing probably gave him a bit of an adrenaline rush, and it showed. He’d probably been gearing up for this for days. He was wearing a new suit – not that Magneto knows every suit in the man’s closet, but it looked new. He looked powerful.

“Hello, Magneto,” he said, leaving his entourage at the door. He didn’t smile, but, whether it was due to the adrenaline or simply Magneto's imagination, Magneto thought his eyes were sparkling. “How are you?”

“I’m all right.” He forced himself to smile. “How are you? You look good. You look great, actually. Your head looks especially shiny today.”

There was a time when that would have gotten a laugh, but Charles only smirked and rolled his eyes.

“I thought you made some good points,” Magneto said. “I think even Congressman White might change his mind.”

“Well, let’s hope so.”

“I’m glad I was here to see it.”

“And I suppose you just walked right in?”

Magneto held out his hat. “I’m here as a civilian.”

Charles' eyebrows quirked, just a little. “A civilian with fake I.D., I’d bet. And was that Mystique at the metal detector?”

“Details.”

There will come a day, Magneto knows, when he will go too far. When Charles will finally and completely be done with him, will no longer insist on seeing good in him, when Charles will find him as reprehensible and irredeemable as the rest of the world does. But by the way that Charles was shaking his head at him and trying not to smile, Magneto could see that this was not that day.

“Would you like to have dinner?” Magneto asked. “Your choice. My treat.”

“Unfortunately we’re turning around and going right back up to New York. I have some business to tend to in the morning and we want to beat rush hour.”

“Of course.” 

“Another time.”

Magneto doffed his hat and smiled politely. “Another time.”

  
  


*

  
  


But when Magneto finally steps out of the library (after being given some time to collect himself after that embarrassing display) the only Charles he finds is up a ladder in Beast's lab, a screwdriver in his hand and his hair a mess, standing on his toes trying to reach the top of some enormous contraption.

“What the hell are you doing up there?” he asks, and startles Young Charles so badly that he slips, the ladder wobbles, and Charles nearly ends up crashing down to the floor head first.

“Please don't startle me like that,” Charles says, breathing a sigh of relief when he regains his balance. “I nearly broke my neck.”

“You're damn right you're going to break your neck. That ladder is not safe. You should get down from there right now.”

Charles shoots him a look that reads “relax, old man” so clearly that Magneto wonders if he's using his telepathy for emphasis.

“I'm serious – that ladder is not sturdy and if you keep tipping it like that it's going to collapse underneath you.” When Charles still doesn't move, he says, “At least get down and let me fix the loose joints before you hurt yourself.”

“Oh, all right,” Charles says, sounding very put-upon, and climbs down.

“What is this thing anyway?”

“Hank and I decided we should start rebuilding Cerebro.”

“Where is Beast?”

“He went to go take a bath. It could be a few hours.”

“Ah.” Magneto takes the ladder from Charles and starts fiddling with one of the steps, purposely not looking at Charles when he mumbles, “I'm sorry about my outburst earlier. In the library.” Charles says nothing, and Magneto still doesn't look up from the ladder. “I can't say I was expecting I would react that way.”

“Nor was I,” Charles says. “But there is no need to apologize. You've done nothing wrong.” Magneto looks up and sees that Charles is smiling kindly at him, which only makes him feel more embarrassed.

“If you could please not mention it to anyone, I would be very grateful.”

“Of course.”

Magneto clears his throat. “So what are you planning to do with Cerebro once it's up and running?”

Charles looks a bit surprised at the change in topic, but doesn't press. “Well, I suppose that all depends on what the CIA plans on doing. If they're going to continue monitoring and, worse, capturing mutants, then hopefully this will give us the means to catch it and stop it before it happens.”

Magneto nods and continues tinkering with the ladder. “Fair enough. And what about the mutants they've already captured?”

“Well, you said this morning that, in your time, you found their facility. Do you remember where it is?”

“I might.”

“Then I suppose we might start thinking about paying them a visit, don't you?” 

Magneto looks up in surprise. “Yes. Yes, I think we should.” 

“Good. I was also thinking, with your permission, I might see if... Well, since it's your mind that's traveled and not your body, I thought I might use Cerebro to see if I can find a way to bring Erik back.”

“You mean to get me home?” Magneto smirks. 

Charles blushes and says, “Yes, that's what I meant,” but it wasn't. Charles meant what he said: he misses Erik. 

“It's okay. I know you want him back. I'm not insulted.” In fact, it makes Magneto smile.

“Do you even want to go home?”

“Yes, I do.” Magneto shrugs. “I owe Charles dinner.”

But the truth is he's not so thrilled with the idea of Young Charles probing so deeply into his mind. Even if he's in love with Erik and not him, this Charles at least seems to think he's not such a bad guy, and Magneto would like to keep it that way. If he lets Charles go poking around with Cerebro and he gets a peek at the things Magneto's done, there's no way he'll still want him around. Magneto will just have to find another way to undo all this without letting Charles in too deep. At the very least, he'll have to stall him for a little while.

With that in mind, Magneto decides to rebuild the ladder molecule by molecule. It is incredibly boring.

Magneto is just about to decide that he can't stand looking at the stupid thing any longer and just throw the ladder back together when he hears a commotion from upstairs: Penny, Mystique, and Angel arriving home from the store.

He drops the remnants of the ladder and heads for the door. “Beast can finish this without us, can't he?” Magneto asks.

“Probably, but I really do need that lad--”

“Great,” he says and runs up the stairs. 

There's a small part of him that feels guilty for stopping Charles from working on Cerebro. It's not that he doesn't want to stop the CIA, or that he doesn't know how important it is in this time and place – but like he felt when facing Shaw again, he's having a hard time making himself care about something that was over and done with forty years ago. Especially not when there are so many more fun things to do, things he didn't get to do while he was busy chasing down the CIA.

By the time Charles catches up with him, Magneto is lifting giggling Penny into the air and tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Put me down!” she squeals.

“You want to go up?” he asks.

“No! Put me down!”

“I can't hear you – did you say you want to go up?” After that she starts whining (“Nooooooo! Put me down!”), so he says “Oh, all right,” and lets her back down to the floor.

“You know,” Charles interrupts, “since it's still early, maybe we should go get Penny enrolled at school.”

“I think that's a good idea,” says Magneto. “What do you think, kid? You want to go to school?”

Penny gives the two of them a suspicious look. “I thought you were going to have a school here.”

“We might,” Charles says, “but in the meantime you need to go to school somewhere. It doesn't look very good if we're keeping you here without your parents and you're not getting an education.”

Penny thinks that over, but doesn't look convinced. Magneto decides to sweeten the deal.

“I'll tell you what,” he says. “We'll go get you started at school and then Charles will buy us all ice cream.”

“Ice cream!” she yells, and runs back out towards the car.

  
  


*

  
  


Enrolling a kid into the first grade seems a lot more complicated to Magneto than it ought to be. It's especially complicated when the kid in question is not actually yours. Having a telepath to make sure that the school officials don't worry too much about a little detail like that is helpful, but Charles seems nervous.

“We don't have a birth certificate. We're not her parents. We haven't adopted her. We have nothing to prove that she lives with us. I knew taking Penny was a bad idea,” he mutters to Magneto, quietly enough for Penny not to hear from the back seat of the car. “We're kidnappers. That's all we are – we're kidnappers.”

“Do you want to send her back to that house?”

“No.”

“Does she want to go back to her grandparents?”

Charles subtly raises his fingers to his temple. “No.”

“So just, you know,” Magneto wiggles his fingers at his head. “I don't know why you're still upset about taking her. This is what you're supposed to be doing.” He pats Charles's leg. “You need to get the school started, then you won't feel so guilty.”

Charles gives him a look, but doesn't say anything. Instead he turns around to Penny. “Okay, are you ready to go inside?” She nods. “We're going to go in, talk to someone, fill out a couple of papers, and then we're done. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes. But I need you to help me, okay? I might need to go into your mind and get some information, like your birthdate and where you were born and things like that. Is that okay?”

Penny looks to Magneto, who nods. “Okay.”

“I'm going to have to lie to the people in there, which is a bad thing to do. You should not lie. But you can't let them know that I'm lying, or else we'll get in big trouble. So when I say that I'm your father and we just moved here, just don't say anything, okay? We're just going to pretend that's the truth, just for today.”

“I want Erik to be my dad.”

Charles shakes his head. “It's only pretend. And it's only for school.”

She kicks her feet. “I want Erik!”

“I'm sorry, liebchen. It has to be Charles,” Magneto tells her. “He has to use his powers to make them believe us.”

“I DON'T CARE! I WANT ERIK! I DON'T WANT STUPID CHARLES!” she starts screaming. “NEM TESZEM MEG! NEM TESZEM MEG! AZT AKAROM, HOGY ERIK LEGYEN A SZÍNLELT APUKÁM!”

Charles pinches the bridge of his nose. “Will you talk to her? Please?”

“Penny, it's only...”

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”

  
  


*

  
  


“Hello, my name is Erik Lehnsherr. I'm here to sign my daughter up for first grade.”

The grandmotherly looking woman behind the desk smiles. “Wonderful. Is that her?” She nods over to where Charles and Penny are sitting in a small waiting area reading a picture book together.

“Yes, that's her. I brought my, uh, brother in law to keep an eye on her.”

 _Please don't improvise,_ Charles tells him. Magneto grits his teeth – he doesn't like being told what to do. But he wants this to go smoothly, so he doesn't argue.

“That is wonderful. She looks like a sweetheart. You just fill this out for me,” the woman says, handing over a form. “All I need from you is her birth certificate and your proof of residence. Did you just move into the neighborhood?”

 _Yes,_ Charles tells him. _Her mother died and we moved up here to be closer to family._

“Yes,” Magneto says. “Her mother died and we moved up here to be closer to family.”

“Oh, how awful!” The receptionist puts her hand to her cheek. “I'm so sorry. Bless you both. Well this is a wonderful school and a wonderful area. I'm sure you both will by very happy here.”

_Yes, I'm sure we will._

“Yes, I'm sure we will.”

“Do you have the birth certificate?”

Magneto pulls a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket – it's an old bill for a dentist visit Charles found in his desk, but the receptionist doesn't notice.

“Excellent,” she says. “I just need to make a carbon. I'll be right back.”

She stands, walks over to the other side of the office, then comes right back without doing anything and hands the dentist bill back to him.

“There you go, you can have that back.”

Well done, Charles.

The receptionist then asks for proof of residence, and when Magneto hands her the same dentist bill, she does the same thing: walks it around in a circle then hands it back to him.

“Now you can just have a seat over there with your little one and fill out that form, and then you'll be all set.”

Magneto cringes at “little one,” but smiles politely and goes to sit with Charles and Penny.

To the receptionist, it looks like Dad is quietly filling out the form while Penny reads a book with Uncle Charles. Meanwhile Charles is pulling the information to complete the form out of Penny's head and sending it to Magneto telepathically.Name, address, date of birth – it's all simple stuff. The only hitch is when the form asks for contact information for Penny's previous school so they can get her records. They'll have to make a trip back down to St. Cecelia's to make sure that a call about Penny doesn't set off any alarms. But for all the worry and screaming and crying on the way to the school, it all turns out to not be such a big deal after all. They turn the form back in to the receptionist, say goodbye, and they're back in the car on the way to get ice cream within a half an hour.

“I think that went well,” Magneto tells Charles when they're sitting on a bench outside the ice cream parlor, watching Penny ravage her chocolate cone.

“I don't know. I don't like leaving a paper trail like that. And Erik is not going to be happy.”

“What do you mean?”

“When he gets back. What is he going to say when he gets back and finds out that the North Salem School District thinks he's Penny's father?”

“It'll be fine. He'll get over it.” Magneto shrugs. “There are very few things he wouldn't do for you, Charles. If you tell him this is how it is, then he'll accept it. For you.”

Charles taps on his leg nervously. “If your Charles had asked, would you have...” he trails off.

“Yes.”

Charles says nothing to that. 

They just sit quietly and watch the cars go by: huge gleaming chrome monstrosities that Magneto can't help but love. It's a shame how much plastic has gotten into cars in his day. Charles taps his foot along to the music coming from down the street, and Magneto takes a surprise lick from Penny's ice cream cone, which makes her giggle.

Finally it's time to go, and as they're getting into the car, Magneto notices a restaurant across the street.

“Would you like to go to dinner tonight? Just you and me?” he asks Charles, surprising even himself. “My treat.”

Charles smiles. “All right. I would like that.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Haljaruna for correcting my Hungarian!


	9. Chapter 9

As usual, Charles spends far too much time reading the menu. It's your basic mediocre local Italian restaurant, same as one would find anywhere else: a pizzeria in the front, table service in the rear, framed maps of Italy hung on the walls, and vases of plastic flowers on the tables. The owners have done little to improve the atmosphere; there are candles on the tables, but with the fluorescent lights overhead, they don't do much for the ambiance. The staff are actually Italian, though, so that bodes well for the food. Assuming, that is, Charles ever decides what he would like to order.

“Veal saltimbocca sounds good, although I'm not sure I'm that hungry...” he murmurs, and turns the menu over again.

Magneto knows he's going to order chicken piccata. He always does. He doesn't say anything about it, though; he's too amused watching this young Charles go through the same motions his Charles always does. He reads the menu back to front, analyzing it as though the waiter might quiz him on it, then spends a good ten to fifteen minutes debating himself on the merits of each particular menu item. On Magneto's Charles, the habit looks like a finicky old man and drives Magneto nuts, especially since he rarely ventures far from his usual food choices. On this Charles, however... well, it's still finicky and annoying, but it leaves Magneto smiling to himself.

“What?” Charles asks. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It's nothing. You just remind me of him is all.”

Charles smirks a little. “I am him, you know.”

“No, you're not. You're almost him, but not quite.”

Charles gives him a look that Magneto doesn't quite understand, but the waiter approaches before he can ask.

“And what would you like?” the waiter asks Charles, who gives the menu one last glance before saying, “I'll have the chicken piccata.”

Magneto tries not to laugh. “I'll have the same.”

The waiter leaves, and again Charles asks, “What? What's funny about chicken piccata?”

“Nothing at all. It's one of my favorites.”

“Mine, too.”

“I know it is. You've ordered it every single time we've gone to an Italian restaurant.”

Charles looks surprised. “Surely not every time.”

“The only times you've ever ordered something different were when I teased you about it, and so you got something else just to prove me wrong.”

Charles sips at his wine. “So we go out together pretty often, I take it. You make it seem like we're mortal enemies.”

Magneto sighs. “It's... complicated. But yes, we do see each other regularly. During the times we're not mortal enemies, that is. I guess it depends on whether or not I've pissed you off recently.”

“And right now?” Charles asks. “Or, when you left, I mean. Were we friends or enemies?”

Remembering the look on his Charles' face that day in Washington, the sparkle in his eyes, Magneto's feels himself blush. “Hard to say. Friends, I think. Or almost. I'm still trying to figure out if he's forgiven me yet for my last transgression, but I think he has. He always does, eventually, though I can't imagine why.”

“I can.”

Magneto fidgets with his napkin. “Well, I hardly deserve it.”

The waiter brings them a basket of garlic bread, which Magneto dives into, as grateful for the distraction as he is for the food. At seventy, it's against doctor's orders, but at thirty-three, he's going to eat as much of it as he can stomach.

“So what's he like?” Charles asks. “What am I like in my sixties?”

Magneto smirks. “Isn't that the first rule of time travel? That you shouldn't know too much about your own future?”

“Where did you hear that?”

In _Back to the Future Part II,_ come to think of it, but Magneto's not about to admit that.

“I thought the first rule of time travel was 'Don't kill your grandfather.' And it's not my future, anyway,” Charles says. “In your time, I was paralyzed in Cuba, and in this time, I wasn't. So my future and my choices are probably going to be very different.”

“So you think there are multiple timelines, then? One in which you're paralyzed and one in which you're not?”

Charles frowns in that way he always does when he's thinking. “I suppose. But why stop there? Maybe there's a timeline where you were paralyzed. Maybe there's a timeline where we both were. Maybe there's some other world where I ordered the veal saltimbocca. Any and all of our choices can lead to different outcomes, and maybe all of those outcomes exist somewhere in time.”

“I don't believe that,” Magneto says, taking another piece of garlic bread from the basket. “Another world isn't created every time someone sneezes.”

“So you think that when you go back, you'll go forward thirty-something years in this timeline? Or do you think you'll go back to yours?”

Magneto mulls that over. “But if I skip the next forty years in this timeline, I wouldn't be me, would I? I would be a version of me who's been living in this world all that time. That's not me – so what happens to me? Do I cease to exist?”

“I don't know. Maybe you'll go forward in this timeline and remember both.”

“And what would that mean for my Charles? I would get back to my time and find an older version of you? He's gone?”

“It's possible.”

Magneto's heart begins to race. “You're saying I killed him? Coming here, I killed him?”

“No, no! Shh,” Charles reaches across the table and pats his hand. “That's not what I'm saying. I'm sorry, it's easy to forget we're not speaking in hypotheticals. I'm not saying you killed him; I was only thinking of the possibilities.” Charles pulls his hand back to his side of the table. “But if you don't think that there are multiple timelines, do you think that this one is not real? That your world is the only one?”

“I don't know. Maybe there are multiple timelines, but I can't think that every single choice we make creates a new one. Maybe multiples are only created by time travel, by things like this.”

“That could be.” Charles finishes the last of his wine just as a waitress is passing by their table. Reaching out and gently touching her arm as she walks by, he says, “I'm sorry to trouble you, love, but could I have another glass of the chardonnay?”

When she walks away, Charles' empty glass in hand, Magneto shakes his head. “You do remind me of him,” he says with a smile.

“And like I said, I am him.”

“No, you're the Charles of this timeline. You're not my Charles. And you're a baby. It almost feels like I'm having dinner with his grandson or something.”

“So I have a grandson?” Charles perks up, eager for any little snippet of his future he can get out of Magneto.

“I didn't mean that literally.”

“Do I have children?” Charles pushes. “Did I get married?”

“Yes, actually. You married the princess of an alien race of bird people and are now the prince consort to the Shi'ar Empire.”

“Very funny.”

Smiling a little, Magneto gives in. “All right, fine. Charles is...” He ought to give Young Charles something, he thinks. If the tables were turned, he would want to know everything. But now that he's opened his mouth, he doesn't know what to tell him. He's not about to start explaining David; that's hardly a fun topic of conversation. He could tell him about the school, but he's probably already told this Charles as much about the school as he knows. He should tell him about Charles. About who he is, who he's become. About how he's the most respected figure in the mutant rights movement; the world's most respected mutant, period. About the books that have been written about him, and the way he speaks to people; the way Magneto will sneak into almost any venue to hear Charles speak. About the way his eyes light up and how contagious his passion is. About the way that they meet sometimes for dinner or drinks or just a stroll through the park, about how Charles can always make him laugh, even when he's not trying to. About how tough he is, and how brave. He wants to tell him about how incredibly powerful Charles has become, and about the awe his power inspires in Magneto, even when Magneto doesn't agree with the way he chooses to use it. He wants to tell Charles about how he always wears a suit, and always wears blue to make his eyes shine; how he sits up straight in his chair, his head held high, looking regal and indomitable. He wants to tell Young Charles how elegant he is, how charming, how commanding. But when he goes to finish the sentence, he ends up saying, “Charles is... great.”

Magneto looks up from the garlic bread he's been picking at and finds Charles looking at him with something close to pity. “What?” It's his turn to ask.

“You still love him,” Charles says softly.

Magneto no longer sees any reason to argue. “Yes,” he says. “Always.”

He hardly notices when the waiter reappears with two plates of chicken piccata and Charles' wine; he's too lost in thought. As he cuts into the chicken and takes the first bite, the only thing on his mind is whether he'll ever get back to his Charles, and whether or not his Charles still exists to return to.

  
  


*

  
  


They end up staying at the restaurant drinking wine and talking long after they'd finished eating, and then taking a walk through town afterward. They don't arrive back at the mansion until much later than they'd anticipated. The lights are out, save for one left on for them in the foyer, and most everyone has gone to bed. Together they climb the grand staircase and walk the quiet hallway to Charles' bedroom.

Stopping in front of the door, Young Charles turns to Magneto with a nervous look. “Did you want to...” He gestures to the door. Did he want to come in. Did he want to return to sleeping in Charles' room. A couple of days earlier, Magneto would have said yes. 

Instead, he shakes his head, no. “I think I'll go back to my room.” It's not that he doesn't want to sleep with Charles, but it's his Charles he wants to sleep with, not this young shadow of him.

There's no need to explain it; Charles seems to understand. “Good night, then,” he says. “Thank you for dinner.”

Magneto gently rests his hand on Young Charles' shoulder and kisses his cheek. “Good night.”

He waits until the door closes behind Charles to turn and walk back to his own bedroom, but just like a few nights earlier, something catches his eye. It's Penny again, peeking out of her own doorway watching him.

“Hello, Penny.”

“Where did you go?” she asks, stepping out into the hallway.

“Charles and I went out to dinner. But it's bedtime now, so back you go.” He leads her back into her room, back into bed, and tucks her in under the covers.

“I thought you left,” she whispers, pulling the blankets up to her chin. “I thought you weren't coming back ever.”

“Why would you think that? We told you were were going to get something to eat.”

The nightlight they've set up for her flickers, and Magneto adjusts it with his powers.

“I know, but,” she pouts, “you just said you were going to eat and you were gone for a long time.”

The bed creaks as Magneto sits on the edge, smoothing Penny's hair. Of course with so much change in her short life, being passed from one adult to the next to the next, it's no surprise she would worry about being left again. “I'm not going anywhere,” he begins to say, but then realizes that's not true. He sure hopes he's going somewhere: back to his own life. So he changes his tack. “Charles isn't going anywhere. This house isn't going anywhere. All of the people in this house are going to be here for you, always. There might be a time, maybe soon, when I might start acting a little weird and confused, and I might not seem like me, but don't let that worry you, okay? That's just me being weird; it's nothing to do with you.”

She's looking at him now like he's being weird, but she doesn't say anything about it.

“None of us is going to go to dinner and never come back,” says Magneto. “I can promise that much, at least.”

“Okay,” she says.

She seems satisfied with that, so Magneto kisses her on the forehead, tells her goodnight, and finally goes back to his own bedroom.

Maybe this will be it, he thinks as he gets into bed. Coming back to 1962 had happened over night, and every night he's been here, he's thought he would make the return trip in his sleep. So far he's been wrong, and until tonight, he hasn't thought much about what he might be returning to or what he might be leaving behind. He tosses and turns for hours, wondering and worrying, feeling completely powerless, until finally he gets up and does the one thing he can think to do.

There's a desk in his room, and in it he finds paper and a pen. If this body is going to wake up in the morning inhabited by Erik, then he's got a few words for him.

“TAKE CARE OF PENNY,” he writes, and sticks the paper into the frame of the mirror. Erik will definitely find it there.

Good, he thinks. That's good. He can sleep easier now.

But no, he can't. He turns the light back on and takes the paper down from the mirror. He has never been one to state the obvious, but just in case, he has something to add.

“AND STAY WITH CHARLES.”

  
  


*

  
  


Late the next morning, it's still Magneto waking up in 1962, seeing his 2am note to himself stuck in the mirror. He feels a little silly for having written it, but leaves it there all the same.

Dressing quickly, he makes it down to the kitchen in time to discover some sort of impromptu X-Men meeting. Not X-Men, he reminds himself, not in this timeline, but whatever the equivalent would be in this one. Charles is standing, leaning against the kitchen counter and sipping at his tea, while Alex, Azazel, Janos, and Angel sit at the table. Mystique and Beast are hovering nearby, while in the next room over, Sean is playing with Penny, clearly assigned to the task of keeping her entertained, safe, and out of the way.

“Am I interrupting?” Magneto asks as he steps into the room.

“Not at all,” says Charles. “We've been hoping you'd join us soon.”

“You could have woken me up.” He pours himself a cup of coffee. “What are you all talking about?”

“The CIA,” Angel chimes in.

Beast clears his throat. “There was a report in the newspaper this morning about a missing child – a fifteen year old girl whose name was on Charles' list of mutants he detected in Cerebro but could not get to at the time. We suspect the CIA is involved.”

“Suspect?” Alex scoffs.

“We don't know anything for certain,” Charles chimes in, “but we would rather not wait until it's too late. Erik, you said you might know where they're taking mutants. Do you remember where that is?” In Magneto's mind he adds, _I told them you found something out when we were staying at their facility earlier this year. I didn't tell them the truth._

“They have a mutant research facility in the Blue Ridge Mountains, in the southwest corner of Virginia. At this point it's only just started. I doubt Moira even knew about it.”

“Then how did you know about it?” asks Mystique.

Magneto glances to Charles. He doesn't remember, back then, how he actually found out where the facility was located. It seems so long ago. He supposes he'll have to make something up. “I found a file in one of the offices where we were staying a few weeks ago.”

“And you didn't say anything until now?”

Charles says, “Shaw was our priority, and until the past couple of days we didn't know that they were actually kidnapping anyone. Now that we do, we're going to act. Hank, how soon can you have the Blackbird ready for a trip to Virginia?”

“She can be ready by this afternoon.”

“Good,” says Charles. “That means we need to be ready by this afternoon.”

Charles has always been brilliant. Magneto knows this. He's always been commanding and clever, but it's been a long time since Magneto has actually seen him strategizing and planning, and, well, being the leader of the X-Men. Not from this side of the conflict, anyway. He can't help but be impressed by him.

All the while, though, as they plot and scheme, Magneto finds his mind drifting. It's all just so... done. Been there, done that. It should be Erik here, he thinks. Erik should be standing here at Young Charles' side, raring to go. He almost feels sorry for Young Charles, for having only him here instead of Erik. Every so often Charles asks him a question, and he answers it, but for the most part, Magneto hangs back and lets the younger folks prepare for the fight. It's a necessary fight, and one he supports one hundred percent, but he finds that he no longer is interested in being the one on the front line.

“Erik?” he hears Charles ask.

“Hmm? I'm sorry I wasn't listening.”

“We were just going over the plan. Are you okay with all this?”

Magneto doesn't have the foggiest idea what Charles is referring to. “Sure,” he says. “Sounds good.” Part of him wants to say no, that he's not going, they can do it all just fine without him. He would almost rather stay here and take the job of watching Penny. He did promise her he'd never leave, after all.

Perhaps, he thinks, it's time for him to retire.

Their planning session ends, and everyone goes to get ready for their trip down to the CIA's mountain facility. Everyone except for Magneto, who instead walks over to the next room where Penny and Sean are running around.

“What are you two up to?” he asks.

Penny runs over to him at full speed and leaps into his arms. “We're playing tag and I'm it!”

“You're playing tag in the house? I think maybe we should take this outside. What do you think, Pen? Outside?”

Her face turns mischievous and she pokes him in the shoulder. “Tag! You're it!”

He lets her down and follows slowly, letting her get a head start, as she runs out of the room, down the hallway, out the back door, and into the garden. It's a beautiful fall day, and slightly too chilly to be out without a coat, but Magneto supposes that if he wants to put a coat on her, he'll have to catch her first. He turns to see if Sean has followed them, but he hasn't. It's just him and Penny.

“Come and get me!” she squeals, and with a smile, Magneto runs after her.

He runs down the steps and down the gravel path, along the hedges and flowers. Penny is out on the lawn, hiding behind a tree and giggling. He steps onto the grass, calling out, “I'm going to get you!” and she starts to run from the tree. He's running across the lawn and has just about caught up with her when he trips and falls to the ground.

He's on pavement. He put his hands out to break his fall, and he looks at them now, old and wrinkled and spotted. He looks up and there's someone running from him: instead of Penny, a green-skinned mutant running out of the alleyway, around the dumpster and out onto the city street. Magneto grunts as he stands, his knees and back aching, his old joints creaking compared to the young body he'd almost gotten used to again. By the time he gets out of the alley himself, he can no longer see the mutant, lost in the crowds on – what is this, 34th Street? He walks to the corner and looks up and down 7th Avenue, but he's gone. Whoever he was, he's gone, and Magneto is seventy again.

He sighs.

At least he still has his wallet. Whoever that mutant was, he didn't mug him, and he still has more than enough cash on him. Not knowing what else to do, Magneto walks down the street until he finds a hotel and steps inside. There's a line at the concierge desk, but he waits his turn, until finally the young man behind the counter looks up at him and says, “Hello, sir, and how can I be of assistance today?”

“I need a car service.”

“I would be happy to arrange that for you. And where are you going?”

“Westchester.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting on this story! I can't say enough how much I have appreciated the support!
> 
> And an especially big thank you to unforgotten and turtletotem, who have been my sounding boards, beta readers, and cheerleaders. I could not have written this without them.

It’s the middle of the afternoon, and traffic is miserable. The one hour drive up to Salem Center takes nearly two; it is sheer good luck that Magneto has so much cash on him, and he gives the driver a hefty tip when he drops him off at the gates.

He’s never entered the school through the front gates, he realizes, noting that the gate still reads Xavier Institute for Higher Learning. Not the Xavier-Lehnsherr Institute, then, although that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He doesn’t care if Erik hadn’t wanted his name on the letterhead, as long as he’s still here, as long as he stayed with Charles. And if he does live here still, then he should probably enter through the front gates like a normal person, like someone who belongs here, rather than flying in through Charles’ window uninvited.

But if he lives here, wouldn’t he have a key or something? He stands at the front gate and checks his pockets, but they’re empty, save for a couple of coins and a Starbucks receipt – he’d gotten himself a cappuccino that morning, apparently. That explains the stomachache.

_Beep._

_Click._

The gate is swinging open, Magneto still standing there dumbly, reading the Starbucks receipt. Glancing around in surprise, he sees a security camera – someone inside must have recognized him and opened the gate. He does belong here, then. This is the second timeline. It will be Young Charles inside waiting for him. No longer young, of course, but it will be him nonetheless.

But that means they’ve spent a lifetime together, he tries to remind himself as he walks towards the front door. That means nearly forty years together, with a Charles who hasn’t suffered at his hand. It should be a comfort, in some way: it’s what he’s always wanted, and yet he has no memory of it. His only memories are of his Charles, the Charles he’s longed for all this time, who now never was.

As he enters the house, no one speaks to him. There are some students around, but not one approaches him or says hello; they only glance at him and look away, going about their business. Wi-Fi is in the air again, and down the hallway he sees the elevator, which makes his heart lurch until he realizes that this is a school and there are laws about wheelchair accessibility, regardless of whether or not the school’s founder uses one. He ignores it, then, and goes down the opposite hallway towards Charles’ office. Assuming it still is Charles’ office. Maybe it’s his.

He knocks.

“Come in.”

He’s almost afraid to open the door. It’s Charles’ voice inviting him in, but he imagines an older Young Charles with thinning brown hair, standing on a stepladder to reach for a textbook on a high shelf, and he just can’t seem to will himself to open the door.

“Come in,” Charles calls again.

With a deep breath, Magneto turns the knob and pushes the door open.

Charles is sitting behind his desk in – there’s no mistaking it – his wheelchair. The emotions that cross his face when he looks up and sees Magneto are too numerous and move too swiftly for him to register what they might mean, but in a moment Charles regains a neutral expression and his eyes return to his paperwork. Only the barest hint of amusement betrays him when he says, “Good afternoon, Magneto, and how does today find you?”

Charles may be trying to play it cool, but Magneto is too overwhelmed with relief at finding his Charles after all, and he’s sure he must be grinning like an idiot when he says, “I don’t know how it found me, but here I am.”

At that Charles looks up, the slightest smirk on his face. “And how did you enjoy 1962?”

Magneto’s face falls. “It was you? You did that?”

“No, it wasn’t me.”

“Then how…”

“Erik came to me. He looked like you, but there was no mistaking it was him. He’s been staying here the past few days while we tried to figure out what to do. He and Hank left this morning to follow a lead – Hank thought it might have been a former student of ours, a green-skinned young man whose powers we never quite understood. I suppose his hunch was right. Although it would have been nice if you’d returned with Hank instead of leaving him in the city by himself, but I suppose you didn’t know that he was there. Quite all right – Hank is a big boy. He can find his own way home.”

“Erik came here?”

“Yes. He was…” Charles sighs. “He was rather upset.”

“I don’t blame him. He lost forty years off his life.”

Charles looks at him kindly. “I don’t think that was what upset him.”

“No,” Magneto says. “Of course not.” He takes a seat in one of the chairs in front of Charles’ desk, locking the office door behind him with his powers, and tries to think what to say. He has no idea where to start.

“So?” Charles smiles, looking mischievous. “How was 1962? Did you see me? How was my hair?”

Magneto laughs. “It was thick and luxurious, but I prefer you without it.”

Charles rolls his eyes, but appears flattered nonetheless.

“Can I ask you a question?” asks Magneto.

“Of course.”

“Whatever happened to Penny?”

“Who?”

“Penny Malone, a little girl you had found in Cerebro while still with the CIA. Her power had to do with languages.”

Charles thinks for a moment before he remembers, a shadow passing over his face. “I went looking for her after I got out of the hospital, but by then it was too late.”

“The CIA?”

Charles shakes his head. “Her grandfather. He was never charged with anything, though. In police records she was listed as missing; in fact, I saw her on a milk carton several months later. I wish I could say she was the only mutant child we didn’t reach in time, but she was only the first.”

Magneto suspected as much, but the confirmation doesn’t hurt any less for it.

“How do you know about her?” Charles asks.

“We saved her,” Magneto says. “You and I, we got to her in time – just barely. We went there the day after Cuba and brought her home with us. She was a good kid. You would have liked her.”

“The day after Cuba? So that means…”

A sad smile creeps across Magneto’s face. “I am happy to report that it went well, this time. We all got out of there without a scratch, you included. We didn’t even have to get off the plane.” He pauses. “It was alarming, actually, how differently it could have gone.”

“Yes, well. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.” Charles is looking anywhere but at him, apparently preferring to study the wood grains in his desk to making eye contact with Magneto. It was days ago for him, but for Charles it’s been nearly forty years. Still he looks as hurt as if it had happened yesterday.

“Charles, I’m sorry,” Magneto says.

Charles looks up from his desk with a weak smile. “You don’t need to apologize again. If I had a nickel for every time you’ve apologized for what happened in Cuba, I could purchase the entire Caribbean. It was a long time ago, and it was an accident.”

“It’s not Cuba I want to apologize for. It’s everything that came after.” Charles’ eyebrows shoot up, and Magneto continues. “Charles, when you were hurt, and I asked you to come with me and you said no… I thought…” He shakes his head. “And then a week later I came to see you, to apologize and beg forgiveness, and I saw you kissing Moira, and Beast told me you were together and you were starting the school… It happened so fast, you had already moved on and started making other plans, that I thought you must have always been planning it, that you must have never loved me. I thought that you must have been using me the entire time we were together. I loved you so much, and it tore me apart, for forty years it tore me apart thinking you never loved me back. But then this happened, and I got to see it all over again… I think I was wrong. All this time, I was wrong, and for that I am sorry.”

Charles gapes at him. “You thought I never loved you?”

He nods.

“How could you think that?”

“How could I not? You told me we wanted different things, and within a few days, you had a girlfriend and a new life you were building without me. I spent years aching for what happened, and you had moved on in a week.”

Charles ponders this for a moment. “I wish Hank would have told me that you’d come,” he says quietly. “I had no idea. Probably he didn’t tell me because he knew how devastated I was over you, and he probably thought he was sparing me heartache by keeping it from me.” He looks up at Magneto. “I loved you desperately, and you left me broken and bleeding in the middle of nowhere.”

“You said you didn’t want me.”

“I said I didn’t agree with you, and you left.”

“But,” Magneto sputters, “but in all this time, you’ve never said anything. You must have known how I felt. You must have gotten some whiff of it somewhere along the line. You must have known how much I loved you, and how much it hurt me when you rejected me, so why did you never say anything?”

Charles swallows. “Yes,” he says. “I knew that you loved me, but not enough. You chose your beliefs over me once, and once was enough. I never dared to try again. You’ve always loved your cause more than you loved me. I’ve known that all along, and I’ve accepted it.”

“No, Charles,” says Magneto. “I don’t think there’s anything I’ve ever loved more than you.”

Though his eyes begin to well, Charles doesn’t say anything. He smiles a little, but only rolls his pen between his fingers as he takes a deep breath and lets out a surprised little laugh.

“I didn’t know,” Magneto says. “I was so devastated thinking you had broken up with me, that you’d never loved me at all, that I never had it in me to hope for anything else, not in all this time.”

“I do love you,” Charles says softly. “I always have. I always will.”

Charles hasn’t moved from behind his desk, and Magneto is still sitting across from him, but they are smiling at each other, and with Magneto’s helmet still missing in action, the emotions between them are reflecting back and forth, ricocheting throughout Charles’ small office, filling it enough to nearly drown them. It’s overwhelming enough that Magneto can barely choke out the words when he says roughly, “You know, I’ve been thinking it might be time for me to retire.”

“Is that so?” Charles grins.

Magneto plays coy. “Do you have any ideas for how I might like to spend my retirement?”

Charles laughs. “I can think of a few things.” He moves his chair out from behind his desk and rolls over to Magneto. “Have you ever considered teaching?” he asks, taking Magneto’s face in his hand.

“If you have a place for me.”

“I think we can make room,” Charles says, and kisses him deeply, Magneto throwing his arms around Charles’ shoulders. It’s been forty years, it’s been days, it’s been a lifetime since Charles kissed him last, and if he had to wait another lifetime before Charles kissed him again, Magneto would do it. It would be worth the wait.

Charles pulls back with a small chuckle. “Another lifetime? I rather hope the waiting is over by now.”

“If you’ll have me. If you’ll let me stay.”

“Stay forever.”

“All right,” Magneto says, grinning. “If you insist.”

 

*

 

Epilogue

 

*

 

Erik is relieved to see Charles finally sneak into the conference room fifteen minutes after the staff meeting has begun. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Charles says as he tiptoes around the table and over to his usual seat at the front next to Erik. “I lost track of time. What are we talking about?”

Azazel gives an overdramatic sigh. “We were just discussing the grand opening of the Arizona school.”

“And?” Charles asks.

Erik closes the folder sitting on the table in front of him. “And I’m not going.”

Ororo glares at him. “Headmaster, they’re expecting you. We can’t have another incident like when the Chicago school opened. We promised them that you would be there for the start of the first semester.”

“I understand that, but I am not going,” Erik says again, determined. “I’m retired.”

Charles turns to him with an eyebrow raised. “You know, darling, I’m starting to get the impression that you’re only ‘retired’ when there’s something you don’t want to do.”

There’s no heat behind Charles’ words – he’s only teasing – but still the whole room tenses. For as long as they’ve known Erik, he’s always been rather formal around the school’s staff, especially the younger faculty members. It’s always Headmaster, or Sir, or Professor; to hear Charles call him ‘darling’ at a staff meeting in front of every member of the faculty is quite shocking. It feels a bit like Charles has offered them a peek into their personal lives, and in a way he has. This conversation about his retirement is well-tread territory between them.

After a moment’s consideration, Erik replies, “I’m semi-retired.”

Charles rolls his eyes in such a way that Erik suspects he’s the only one who notices it. “Fine then. I’ll go to Arizona myself.”

This time Erik tenses while everyone else relaxes. “You’re going?” he asks sharply.

This is the other half of their now near-constant argument. What is the point in him retiring, Erik thinks, if Charles continues working?

“Someone needs to go out there to make sure they set off on the right foot,” Charles says. “And I would be happy to do it.”

Charles always wants to be the one in the field, traveling and fighting and speaking on behalf of mutants, and Erik has always supported him in this; the memory of how it could have been is always at the forefront of his mind. But they’re getting old. Healthy and active though he may be, Charles is in his late sixties now, and Erik wishes he would slow down.

_Why don’t you have someone else go? I’m sure that Ororo wouldn’t mind a trip out to Arizona_ , Erik thinks.

_Why don’t we go together?_ Charles replies. _We can stay a little longer. Make a vacation of it._

Erik doesn’t want to answer Charles. Charles knows damn well why Erik doesn’t want to go. He wants to be here, at home, in New York, with their family. He doesn’t want to be out in the desert working all day. No matter what Charles says, two weeks in Arizona getting another school up and running would be a vacation in about the same way that Erik is retired: in name only. He doesn’t have to say or think any of this. Charles knows.

But he isn’t exactly giving Charles the silent treatment when he suddenly remembers that Libby’s seventh birthday is the same day that the Arizona school will be opening its doors. She’s been reminding him of it every day for the last month, and it’s still two months away. She’s the youngest of Penny’s children, but Libby is the only girl, and she’s the spitting image of Penny when she was that age. If Charles is going to make him choose between the desert in August and his granddaughter’s birthday party, it’s not even worth discussing. He’s having birthday cake.

Charles pats him on the leg and sighs. “We can talk about who’s going to Arizona later,” he says to the room. “There are other matters to discuss that are far more pressing.”

These staff meetings usually last an hour or two, but they make their way through the day’s agenda in less than forty-five minutes. Erik doesn’t speak much, and they all seem to notice it, because there are more than a few comments of “Isn’t that right, Headmaster?” And, “What do you think, Headmaster?” He agrees with everyone when he’s called upon – not because he actually does agree, necessarily, but his mind is elsewhere, and he’s confident that they all know what they’re doing by now. He’s been running this school for more than thirty-five years; whatever it is they’re talking about, he doubts it’s anything he hasn’t heard before.

Finally he hears Charles say, “All right, I suppose that’s everything. Meeting adjourned.”

Erik begins to get up, but Charles puts a hand on his wrist. “Stay here a moment,” Charles says, and Erik sits back down.

When everyone else has filtered out of the room, Charles takes Erik’s hand in his.

“Is everything all right?” Erik asks.

“I was about to ask you the same question.” Charles looks at him searchingly. “You seem upset. You barely had a word to say, not even when we were talking about abilities training. Is this about Arizona?”

Erik sighs. “No, it’s not about Arizona.”

“But there is something on your mind. You’ve been grumpy all day.” He smirks. “Grumpier than usual, I mean.”

Erik lifts Charles’ hand to his mouth and kisses his knuckles. “It’s nothing at all. It’s just.” He feels silly even saying it, but this is Charles. There’s nothing he can’t tell Charles, and anyway this is nothing Charles doesn’t already know. “Today is the day that I visited. When we switched – when Magneto and I switched. I suppose I’m just a little distracted thinking about it is all.”

“Oh, my love,” Charles says, bringing his hand to Erik’s cheek. “And how did that world compare to this one?”

“It doesn’t.”


End file.
